God Help the Girls
by Bratpack 2.0
Summary: ...But with the girls, the rivalry was played out in near silence; psychological warfare. Nasty rumors and snide remarks. Girls will be girls, just as boys will be boys. It was that way all over America, and surely Tulsa was no different. But, no. It was oh so different in Tulsa.
1. Phonies

**Author's Note: Hey, all! This story right here is a multi-chapter collaborative effort between** ** _AndThatWasEnough, lulusgardenfli,_** **and** ** _This Is Melodrama_** **. You'll be seeing some familiar faces, noting some crossover, and hopefully feeling some feels. That's about all we are at liberty to say.**

 **Disclaimer: We do** ** _not_** **, absolutely** ** _do not_** **own SE Hinton's** ** _The Outsiders_** **(though, sometimes we wish we did). We also do not own any recognizable or quoted material. We're just playing in the garden.**

 **Happy reading :)**

 **XXXXX**

 **"** ** _I am always saying 'Glad to've met you' to somebody I'm not at all glad I met. If you want to stay alive, you have to say that stuff, though." –_** **J.D. Salinger** ** _, The Catcher in the Rye_**

There were rumors circulating about Miss Tracy, the eleventh grade English teacher, some of which were quite colorful. The most popular ones were that she had a beatnik boyfriend, or that she was some underground beathouse poet, or perhaps even a communist on the run. When seen out and about town, she was reported to dress like Audrey Hepburn, in cigarette pants and ballet flats and cat-eye sunglasses. She looked like a normal woman in school, however, with the same pleasant smile that many young teachers have, and she was well-liked amongst the students because she was the easiest grader of all the English teachers, and the boys noted that she was the prettiest – much prettier than ol' Mr. Hillenberg or Mr. Syme.

The truth, though, to Tulsa's own bohemian, was that she probably just had a few different ideas. She wasn't a communist or on the lam. She was no poet. And she hadn't had a steady boyfriend since high school. The truth was that Miss Tracy was a woman with a passion for good books, and she wanted to share that. But none of that was interesting. It was the private life that was interesting to her students. And the rumor mill always needs help spinning.

The day Miss Tracy assigned _The Catcher in the Rye_ to her class, she continued to be blissfully unaware of the tensions boiling underneath the surface. What is obvious to some is hidden to others, sometimes in plain sight. The boys were always so rowdy – the ones in the leather jackets with slicked-back hair always seemed to be at odds with the ones in the solid-colored sweaters and shined shoes. But with the girls, the rivalry was played out in near silence; psychological warfare. Nasty rumors and snide remarks.

Isn't that how it was everywhere? It was no different here. It didn't mean any more than it did anywhere else. Girls will be girls, just as boys will be boys. They will giggle and tease and scour their fashion magazines and the gossip columns and worry about who's going to be prom queen. It was that way all over America, and surely Tulsa was no different.

But, no. It was oh _so_ different in Tulsa.

XXXXX

"…Alright. You were expected to read chapters one through three last night for homework. For today, I've assigned you a group to discuss the questions I have written out on the board. We'll reconvene in roughly fifteen minutes, discuss as a whole, and then I'll assign you your independent projects. Your groups are listed on the board. Sit where you like, but stay in the classroom."

Miss Tracy finished giving her instructions and moved away from the chalkboard to sit at her desk and grade Tuesday's grammar test. Evie scanned the board for her name, and rolled her eyes when she found it. Just her luck. Lucy Radner was such a bore, and so were those two dopey jet-set boys. And then that Bridget Stevens girl apparently had a stick up her ass – Two-Bit Mathews had said so. Evie sighed and stood up, already mentally preparing herself for any bullshit they threw at her, which was essentially a given. The boys weren't even the worst part – they just stared at her. It was the girls who always talked about her and her friends (if you could call girls like Kathy and Sylvia friends) behind their backs, and gave them funny little once-overs and then giggled. It was bad enough when Evie would stand side-by-side with one of them in front of the bathroom mirror, both trying doggedly to ignore each other, but each taking little glances, silently judging. Whores and prudes, the lot of them, when you boiled right down to it.

Meanwhile, Bridget had floated over to where her group was congregated, book clutched tightly in hand. Meeting people was still hard. She was only just getting to know the girl she sat next to, Lucy Radner. Lucy was nice enough, but Bridget liked Missy Redar, the girl she sat next to in history, better, as well as Missy's friends. She'd probably like history class better, too, if it weren't for those two awful boys that sat behind them. But English was bearable. She liked _The Catcher in the Rye_. What it really did was make her miss New York. Tulsa was no New York. There was no Central Park. No Radio City Music Hall to go see concerts at. Just dust and heat and old men in bolo ties and cowboy boots. The book left her with an ache in her chest.

She sat down gently in someone else's chair in the back corner of the classroom and sighed a bit shakily. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to be the new girl anymore. Lucy sat down next to her and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Just our luck," Lucy whispered to Bridget. "Evie Martin's in our group."

Bridget raised a confused eyebrow. "What's so wrong with that?" She whispered back.

"I keep forgetting you're new," Lucy sighed. "Just look at her," she mumbled, her eyes darting towards Evie, who was making her way over to their group.

Bridget looked at her. She decided that Evie was pretty. But on closer inspection, she began to see what it was that Lucy must have been talking about. Must be something about that class war that was going on down here. Like _West Side Story_ , but dumber. Evie's hair was ratted high. (Bridget self-consciously fingered her long, frizzy hair, painfully aware of how untamable it was, how it must look next to Lucy and Evie's shiny, smooth locks.) She wore a neatly-hemmed bright pink dress that came up well above her knee. (Bridget figured she must look like a little schoolgirl in her knee socks and saddle shoes, and realized that boys probably looked at Evie and thought of her as a woman.) The heel on her shoes was at least an inch too high to look comfortable. So, yes, Evie was pretty. But there was another word for her that was coming to mind, but Bridget refused to say it, even in her head. Evie sat down and smoothed her skirt, looking coolly at the rest of the group. Rodney cleared his throat and looked at the board. There were only two questions:

 _What do you think of Holden's voice?_

 _What have you noticed so far that is grammatically unique?_

"Alright," he mumbled, then cleared his throat and read, "'what do you think of Holden's voice?'"

Lucy was the first to speak up, never one to fear speaking her mind. "In my opinion, Holden is too vulgar for my liking. And a pest, too. I couldn't put up with someone like him, honestly," Lucy said.

Evie fought the urge to roll her eyes. Everyone knew that's not what "voice" meant. Even Evie. She wasn't stupid. It had to do with more than just swear words. And just because he was too vulgar for _Lucy Radner's_ liking didn't mean anything. Lucy was a prude and a bore and it made sense to Evie that she didn't get it. She didn't get _anything_.

"Well, I like 'im. I like Holden just fine. He speaks his mind. Ain't that a good thing?" (Of course that was a good thing. No one liked a spineless pansy.) "And I don't mind him swearing either. Just who he is, I guess."

The boys sort of shrugged, like they might have agreed with her if those other two girls weren't sitting there. And speaking of them, Bridget and Lucy watched Evie closely, like they were calculating something, and Evie allowed for the silence in the group to challenge them to say something to that, something snarky and smart like she knew they wanted to. And it seemed like they were going to just move on before that new girl said,

"That isn't a surprise, Evie. I mean, listen to _you_. You're basically the female Holden Caulfield."

That got a few laughs, and Stevens seemed to momentarily bask in their praises and the glory of her one-liner. Look – Evie had certainly had worse. But Jesus, even the new girl? They'd already gotten to her, too? Something sank into her stomach – maybe it was her heart – as she listened to their giggling. Evie glared at Bridget, and had to resist softening at the timid look in her eyes and her shaking hands.

Evie tuned out the rest of the discussion, knowing they didn't care if they heard her or about what she had to say, even though she had _plenty_ to say. It's just that nobody ever wanted to listen. So she buffed her nails as she sat in her seat at the back of the class, filtering out her classmates' bullshit "insight" until the class seemed to still and Miss Tracy lifted a large stack of books – really a small library – onto her desk. There were a few murmurs amongst the class as Miss Tracy stood looking pleased before them.

"I'd like to make you all aware that our next project after this will be with partners, which I've already decided. It's another reading project, and I've already decided which book you'll each be reading."

The boy next to Evie raised his hand high. "Miss Tracy, aren't we all reading the same book?"

Miss Tracy smirked. "Not at all. In fact, Kevin, you'll all be reading something different." She took a book from the middle of her large stack. "And you, Mr. Anderson, will be reading Steinbeck," she said, and plopped _The Grapes of Wrath_ in front of him and returned to the front of the classroom, a pleased look on her face and her hands clasped in front of her.

"The idea of the next project is to make comparisons. As you're all reading different books, none of you will have the same characters or plotlines, but that doesn't matter – you're looking for those universal things. Themes, grammatical stylings, motifs, archetypes. The possibilities are really endless! And you and your partner are going to find those universal things between your two readings. And speaking of partners, the partnerships are as follows…" She began, and Miss Tracy read from her list. Evie didn't really listen (She rolled her eyes when Lucy and Bridget were paired together, and nearly gagged at the excited, smug look they shared.) Actually, she was really thinking more about how she felt bad for Miss Tracy in a way. She was so young and enthusiastic about everything, always trying new things. Eventually, she'd probably get tired of all that, which would be a real shame. Someone would eventually catch up to the fact that _The Catcher in the Rye_ was widely banned and really give her an earful, and that'd be that.

Evie's ears finally perked up when Miss Tracy read, "Evelyn and Ella."

Ella. _Ella_. Who's Ella? Did Evie know any Ellas? She looked around the room until she met eyes with a freckly, bushy-haired girl who gave her the tiniest of waves. Evie gave her a small wave back. So _this_ was Ella. She looked a bit familiar. Maybe they'd shared a class before. And Evie thought she recognized her from the grocery store on Sutton.

Miss Tracy began passing out books after she finished reading the pairs. Evie couldn't help but feel marked when _The Scarlet Letter_ was placed on her desk, staring up at her like an accusation. When Evie moved to sit next to Ella for the duration of the project, Ella showed her the copy of _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ that she'd been given.

"I think I saw the movie of that," Evie told her. "It was good." Ella just shrugged.

"I don't know anything about it," she said. "When can you meet? I have work."

"Me too. Weekends are fine," Evie said easily. "But not nights. I usually go out."

Ella nodded her head and made a note of that, and Evie wondered if Ella ever went out on Saturday nights.

XXXXX

Bridget couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in her stomach. How awful she had been! Ugh! She flopped onto her bed, feeling useless and gross in a way that had nothing to do with her physical health. She was always opening her mouth at the dumbest of times and saying the stupidest of things. Bridget just wanted to fit in – was that really too much to ask? And she'd never fit in with girls like Evie, with their short hems and high hair and cakey makeup. That was too far for her. That was too big a change. So she'd keep on wearing her knee socks and saddle shoes and dresses (the one she'd worn today really _was_ nice – red really was a nice color for fall), which would keep Dad from looking at her askance.

But the truth was, Bridget never really fit in _anyway_. She'd tried. Oh, she'd tried. She'd dressed decently and was always hyper-conscious of her skin and nails and teeth and just being _clean_. She'd suffered through manners courses that their old bat of a neighbor told Dr. Stevens "were absolutely necessary for a young woman" in order to even _begin_ to function in society. Which was – pardon her French – _bullshit_. Nothing in that course had prepared her for the complete and utter wilderness of girlhood and the fact that no matter how polished she was or how well she could play piano and how many books she'd read and how much she squealed over the Beatles, she didn't fit. Her hair was too frizzy and her eyes were too big and she _knew_ she was small and spoke that way.

 _God_ , she thought (prayed?), _I don't know if you're there, but if you are, would you mind giving me a spine? Or maybe telling Two-Bit Mathews to stop smiling at me that way and tapping my shoulder? Maybe tell Evie I'm sorry for me. I was stupid for saying anything. I just want to fit here, somewhere, anywhere!_

"Bridget!"

Bridget shot up. Her father didn't sound mad, so that was good. She hopped off her bed and ran down the stairs, her stocking feet slipping slightly on the hardwood. Her father was waiting at the bottom of them. Dr. Stevens was a dignified man that wore clothes Bridget could only describe as professorial, and glasses. His black hair, which he'd given to his daughter, was greying. If she had to compare, Bridget would probably say he looked like a more tired, slightly less handsome Christopher Plummer. (God, _The Sound of Music_ was a great movie.)

"Yeah, Daddy?" She asked, hand gripping hard on the banister. Dr. Stevens cleaned off his glasses.

"I forgot to mention – someone left a message for you earlier."

Bridget's eyebrows shot up. "A message?" She repeated. Shit, no one ever left her messages. "What about? When? Who was it from? What did they say?"

Dr. Stevens smirked but waved her off, putting his glasses back on. "A young woman named Missy Redar called. She said she and a… _Cherry_ …were wondering if you were free this weekend."

"Really?" She asked. Another first – someone asking if she was free for the weekend? "Of course I am. Did she leave a number? So I can call back?" She asked, hoping not to sound too eager. Her father nodded.

"Left it by the phone. Bridget, honey, if you don't mind my asking, how are things going?"

Bridget shuffled her feet, feeling a bit awkward and unsure how to answer. Before she came to Tulsa, all she knew of Oklahoma was what she'd gleaned from the Rodgers and Hammerstein play, so not much. She wasn't expecting all of this, for her money to get her this far. To be told she's _supposed_ to look down on the kids from the other side of town, like God himself had decreed it. And that wasn't the only thing. But she couldn't explain all that to her father.

"Fine," she said simply, shrugging. "I'm meeting people. Like Missy and Cherry, they're really nice. I like them. We all sit together at lunch with these other girls, Marcia and Vickie and Penny. They're nice, too." Bridget tried to give her father a reassuring smile. "It's really fine, Dad. Really."

It really _wasn't_ fine, not exactly, but she wasn't completely lying. She did like those girls. And her heart was pounding with excitement at the idea of Missy and Cherry calling her house, wondering if she was free for the weekend. Did that mean a sleepover? She'd have to ask when she called.

"Alright," he said gently. "Good. I think you have a call to return."

They smiled at each other, and Dr. Stevens patted his daughter's back as she ran off to make a phone call.

XXXXX

Someday, Evie was going to be a hairdresser. And someday after that, she was gonna be the best goddamned beautician in all of Tulsa. She was gonna do hair and paint nails and do amazing things for ordinary-looking – maybe even ugly – women.

 _But_ , she thought glumly, scowling at her sudsy hands as she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her sister, washing dishes, _that day is not today._

"You're quiet," her little sister, Beth, observed. "What's up?"

Evie rolled her eyes and blew a strand of hair out of her face. "Nothin'. Just that this is disgusting. I hate doin' the damn dishes."

Beth giggled. At fourteen, Beth had, of course, heard pretty much every swear word in the book, but she still blushed and giggled almost every time she heard one, especially when Evie used them. What a doof. But Beth was the easy sister. Evie put in her work at her mother's salon and helped around the house and the hospital, but she also liked to go out, and she knew what those looks her mother sometimes gave her meant. They meant, _Dammit, Evelyn, would it kill you to wear a longer skirt?_ The answer was yes, yes it would.

"Hey. Hey, Evie."

"What."

Evie turned to Beth, who then proceeded to flick her wet, soapy hands in her face. Evie sputtered and spit, glaring at her sister, who thought she was the funniest damn person on the planet. Funnier than Johnny Carson and Bob Newhart combined. "Ha, ha," she deadpanned.

"I'm so funny," Beth said loftily. Evie just shook her head and moved a stack of plates into the cabinet. The house was quiet with Daddy out working, leaving Mama with no one to talk to while the two of them did up the dishes. Mr. Martin worked a couple jobs. Tonight he was a janitor over at the university. "Hey, Evie."

"What _now?_ "

"Did you ever have Mr. Syme?"

Evie let the cabinet shut with a soft thud and narrowed her perfect brows at Beth. "Mr. Syme? For what?"

"Freshman English."

"No," Evie answered quickly. "But doesn't Ponyboy Curtis have him?"

Beth rolled her eyes. "He's in my class. He'd be no help."

"No help with what? Some project?"

"No," Beth pouted. "I just happen to think he's annoying."

"Yeah, well, most of them are like that," Evie shrugged, shooting her sister a smile. But then it faltered. While they were on the subject of English class…"Hey, Beth?"

"Yeah."

"You ever…well, you ever think I'm…well. D'you think I'm a whore?"

Beth snorted in surprise. Evie scowled. "Um. No?" She tried timidly. "Gee, Evie, I dunno. I mean, you've really only ever been with Steve." She shrugged. "I don't think you're…easy."

Evie nodded and leaned against the counter, dishrag in hand. She trusted Beth – she did. But ever since Miss Tracy had placed _The Scarlet Letter_ in front of her, something had been bugging her. Evie had heard what that book was about. That Hester woman was some whore, or something. And she knew it was probably just a coincidence that Miss Tracy had given her that book, but she also couldn't help but think that Miss Tracy _knew_ something about her, or thought she did. She really wasn't that much older than her students. Maybe she thought…oh, she didn't know. All Evie knew was that it gave her an odd feeling, and she hadn't even started reading it yet.

"Evie? Evie, I meant it. I really don't think you're a slut. Ya just dress like one."

Evie shot her sister a look, and Beth looked like she was working real hard to keep in the laughter. "Yeah, thanks, skeeze," she said, snapping her bottom with the dishrag, making her yelp, and then Beth chased her up the stairs to their bedroom.

"That hurt!" She cried, chasing Evie as she laughed. Beth chucked a pillow at her. "You're so mean to me," she pouted, rubbing her backside.

"Yeah, yeah," Evie laughed, picking up her book off the nightstand and beginning to read aloud. "Listen to this: ' _A throng of bearded men, in sad–coloured garments and grey steeple–crowned hats, inter–mixed with women, some wearing hoods, and others bareheaded, was assembled in front of a wooden edifice, the door of which was heavily timbered with oak, and studded with iron spikes_.' Jesus, I'm already bored."

Boring worked. If she could get through this book and the worst that could be said for it was that it was boring, she could deal with it. But she wouldn't be able to deal with it if she suddenly started _identifying with it_ or some shit.

Because then that would mean she really _might_ be a whore.

XXXXX

 **AN: Thank you so much for reading. Stay tuned!**


	2. Getting to Know You

**_I feel there is something unexplored about woman that only a woman can explore._**

 **-Georgia O'Keeffe**

* * *

Catherine Carlson stepped out from the harsh light of the morning sun into the dimmed lobby of Will Rogers High School. Low murmurs, squeals and shouts punctured the air thick with perfume, cologne, and the latent scent of cigarette smoke wafting in from the other side of the doorway.

Cathy placed her hand on the outside of her purse, feeling her own package of cigarettes through the imitation leather. It was a nasty habit, one she justified by telling herself that she only smoked when she was stressed. It just so happened that this week she was three smokes a day stressed.

Still, the idea of smoking on school grounds never occurred to her. At Graves Academy that would have been an automatic suspension. But private schools had different rules than public ones. Here, Cathy mused, unless kids were throwing each other out of windows, the school was stuck with them until they aged out.

Cathy shook her head; private school, public school, what did it matter anymore? Graves Academy was the best thing that ever happened to her, she paid her own way through school, but the money ran out and now here she was.

She shook her head and adjusted her purse's gold chain shoulder strap. Feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to change anything. Besides, she wasn't being condemned to prison, just high school. How bad could it be? A wry grin spread across her face.

XXXXX

Throngs of bareheaded teenage boys in jeans and slacks mixed with girls wearing skirts of various lengths, their legs looking like tree branches stripped of their bark, leaving nothing but the exposed heartwood underneath. They assembled in the large lobby, some sitting on benches, and others commandeered the stairwell that led to rest of the school.

Cathy pulled down on her own dress and smoothed down her green flowered skirt. Boy, how Cathy hated wearing dresses! She much preferred jeans and pedal pushers to the billowy tent that made her thighs like a rosebush in full bloom. The only part of going to Will Rogers that she was looking forward to was ditching the dowdy pleated grey uniform. She felt like one of the Puritans in _The Scarlet Letter_ in that stale get up.

But Cathy's desire to wear her favored slacks was quickly dashed by the 'no pants except on casual Fridays' rule. Cathy and the other girls were trapped in their hemmed & nylon prisons. Meanwhile, the boys wore rolled up jeans and leather jackets and no one cared.

Cathy looked around the lobby, some of the kids didn't look any older than her brother M&M who was in the 7th grade, and some look old enough to be in graduate school.

She was fifteen, but often mistaken for older. Being the oldest of seven children will do that to you. Besides knowing how to change diapers at age six and being an expert on coaxing a naked child covered in peanut butter out of the washing machine ( _don't ask_ ) she also learned how to observe people.

Because isn't that what mothers do? Watch over their children like hawks? That diligence carried over to other aspects of Cathy's life. She couldn't help but analyze everyone she met. It wasn't just about what they were doing that interested Cathy, _but why._

She was fascinated by human psychology, but there was a deeper reason why she enjoyed analyzing everyone to death; analyze others and you don't have to worry about analyzing yourself.

Besides, Cathy mused she was a pretty boring person. She wasn't worth analyzing. In elementary school they had a project where the entire class had to list positive traits of each classmate. Cathy received 10 votes for 'smart', 5 votes for 'organized', 1 vote for 'nice' which made Cathy smile, 4 votes for 'hard working', 6 votes for 'quiet' which Cathy wasn't sure counted as a 'positive' trait, and one classmate who wrote on his card, "whose (sic) Cathy?"

Truthfully, Cathy wasn't quite sure if she could answer that question herself.

But she could answer that question about others.

XXXXX

Take the girl with the long and wild black hair. Her skirt wasn't as short as the other girls'. It was nice to see a girl who didn't feel the need to show the entire world her, well, ' _world_.' Although she was average in height, she carried herself with an elongated pride which made her seem taller. Cathy wouldn't say she looked snooty, exactly, but she certainly looked like a gal who never needed to ask for favors.

 _She certainly didn't look like the type of girl who was intimately familiar with the joy of cajoling a stubborn two year old out of the washing machine._

If Cathy felt guilty about staring, at least she wasn't alone in her morning ritual. A stocky boy with hair the color of rust and a loose, devil-may-care grin pointed out the girl to a younger boy with long brownish-red hair. The younger boy shrugged, but the older boy stuck his nose up in the air and though Cathy wasn't close enough to hear what they were saying, she was sure it was nothing complementary and probably plenty vulgar.

She felt sorry for the wild haired girl. Cathy knew what it was like to have people talk about you behind your back.

Still, Cathy couldn't help but notice that the older boy, even as his eyes narrowed into iron spike slits, couldn't stop staring at the black haired girl.

She also couldn't help but notice that the younger boy was kind of cute.

The two boys went to join a guy with thick, swirled greasy hair and a girl in the shortest skirt the Will Rogers' dress code would allow.

XXXXX

Evie Martin handed her boyfriend the now almost empty bottle of Coca-Cola. For a boy who could lift a hubcap with panther like reflexes he sure was slow on the draw. Evie could still feel the carbonated bubbles popping in her mouth like rock candy as she fumbled through her bag, feeling the outline of the book Miss. Tracy assigned to her. Beth's words still rambled through her mind, " _Evie? Evie, I meant it. I really don't think you're a slut. Ya just dress like one."_

Evie wasn't offended and normally she would not even remember Beth's quip; if it wasn't for that stupid book. Evie scoffed, imagine getting all uptight over a book some lame ass wrote one-hundred years ago.

Speaking of uptight lame asses, Evie saw that Bridget chick from English. She and Lucy were talking and, God, she looked like an even bigger snob at 7:30 in the morning. There was something so off putting about her, the way she and her little clique of friends gathered like a pack of hyenas on the hunt. Their overcooked giggles sounded like sharp nails screeching on vinyl.

Every few seconds Bridget would glance over at Evie and like a coward, turn away. If she were a greasy girl, Evie might consider starting something, or at least put her in place; but against Miss. Priss? All she could do was meet Bridget's snooty stare with a glare of her own.

Show her who was boss. But who was Evie kidding? Will Rogers High School was no different from the real world, the rich bitches would always be on top, glares and insults would do nothing to change that.

XXXXX

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" Cathy looked up and saw the girl with the wild black hair look down at her, an expectant look on her face.

Cathy tucked her legs in and gestured for the girl to take the seat next to her. The girl sure had a lot of hair.

"You're new?" The moment those words escaped from Cathy's mouth she inwardly groaned, of course the girl was new, they were both at a special assembly for new students. Cathy blushed and grinned, "Of course you are…"

The other girl only gave a reserved smile. "No worries." She held out her hand, "Bridget Stevens." She had the whitest teeth Cathy had ever seen outside advertisements for toothpaste.

"Catherine Carlson, pleased to meet you." _Catherine_? Cathy had no idea where that came from. No one, save Aunt Rita ever called her by her full name.

But there was something about this girl; her perfect posture, her white teeth, her presence, that made Cathy want to add an extra few syllables to her name.

As she extended her own hand, Cathy noticed that Bridget had perfect manicured nails. Of course she would. Cathy pulled her own hands under her knees. They were in need of a good trim.

XXXXX

A Mr. Hillenberg stood in front on the microphone, tapping it with his fingers sending a crackled hiss through the auditorium. In his black slacks, crisp white shirt, thin black tie and black suit jacket he reminded Cathy more of an undertaker than a teacher.

Perspiration streamed down his bald head as he stood under the hot stage lights, the lights magnifying every crevice and wrinkle on his face. She couldn't help but think that he looked about a decade past retirement and wondered if he was still working because he wanted to, or because he had to.

He stammered a few times and Cathy cringed in sympathy. She hated watching people embarrass themselves. When he wasn't stuttering and stammering he spoke in a monotone and Cathy wondered how his students made in through his class without falling asleep. But when a boy on the other side of Bridget made a dramatic yawn, eliciting loud chuckles from the kids around him, Cathy shot him a withering look. She hated rude people and when Cathy wanted to, she could be as cold as anyone.

Unfortunately Cathy was no prized sharpshooter; her aim misfired and fell right on Bridget's pretty face. Bridget looked at Cathy with a look that teetered between confusion and defensiveness.

"What?" she hissed.

Cathy shook her head apologetically. "Not you, that look was meant for someone else."

Bridget's face melted and once again she smiled, "I'm sorry, I hope I didn't overreact," she whispered. Cathy could tell that Bridget felt embarrassed by her reaction, but Cathy wasn't offended, she got a lot worse from the twins almost every night.

Cathy felt guilty, she forgot how menacing her 'big sister' glare really was. Besides, this Bridget didn't seem like the type girl who was used to people _not_ treating her with kid gloves. She probably never received a dirty look from anyone in her life.

For a reason Cathy couldn't quite articulate, it made her feel a bit sorry for the girl.

XXXXX

Standing next to Mr. Hillenberg only made Miss. Tracy look even more nubile. She didn't look much older than the students, and Cathy wondered if that was strange for her.

Cathy thought about going into teaching. In another life her mother taught first grade. Cathy couldn't imagine teaching such young children. As much as she loved her siblings, having to take care of entire class of skinned knees, hurt feelings and runny noses appealed to Cathy as much as getting tetanus shot.

But high school? That was different. At Graves Academy, Cathy's favorite class was the Freshman Great Books Seminar, each student read a classic, and Cathy read _The Canterbury Tales_. Bridget reminded Cathy, at least on a superficial level, of The Prioress.

Miss. Tracy sure was enthusiastic. When she talked her voice bounced off the auditorium's walls, "I'm so happy to welcome each and every one of you to Will Rogers." She paused, and Cathy thought she expected applause, but when none was forthcoming she just flashed a huge grin and continued to speak.

"This is an exciting time in your life, and a confusing time. As you probably noticed, Will Rogers is a huge school, although not large enough to have an elevator." She added with a smirk.

That comment drew groans and a few tired chuckles from the crowd. Cathy already had two kids try to sell her 'passes' for the nonexistent elevator.

What really confused Cathy was one kid tried to sell her a pass while she was _already_ on the third floor.

" _First of all, there is no elevator. Secondly, I'm already on the third floor, why the heck would I need an elevator pass? Clearly, I have no issues climbing up stairs."_

Cathy may be the new girl, but she wasn't stupid.

Cathy didn't notice that Bridget was poking her elbow, "Catherine…"

Miss. Tracy assigned what she called an 'ice breaker' activity, but which really just sounded like a waste of time to Cathy. Every new student would be paired up and they had to spend 3 minutes talking about themselves.

Cathy wished she could take an elevator right out of the auditorium. Unless she was comfortable with someone, she hated talking about herself, and even then she preferred to listen.

"Want to pair up?"

Cathy smiled and nodded at Bridget, relieved that she didn't have search through the auditorium for a partner.

Bridget was originally from New York City; she loved Broadway, wanted to be on the stage someday and enjoyed concerts at Radio City Music Hall. As she continued to speak, Cathy noticed that her voice became more relaxed and she couldn't stop smiling as she talked about New York City. She talked about New York the way Cathy thought about Graves Academy and Cathy wondered if Bridget missed The Big Apple as much as Cathy missed her school.

Bridget certainly sounded like she was familiar with the finer things in life, and Cathy felt some pride that her initial assessment of the girl was correct.

"And, um, I love The Beatles. I guess that's it."

Cathy awoke from her passive politeness and practically shot up, she couldn't keep the enthusiasm out of her voice, "Oh, me too! Okay, who is your favorite? On the count of three, one…two…three…"

"Paul McCartney," Bridget said with gusto.

"John Lennon," Cathy said with equal zest.

The girls burst out laughing, and Cathy felt that she could become friends with this Bridget Stevens. Isn't that funny; finding out you like the same band that millions of girls all over the country went ga-ga over, and suddenly Cathy felt a kinship with this New York girl.

"But" Cathy continued, "I feel a bit sorry for Ringo, it seems like everyone forgets about him. At my old school we had a Fall Follies and I volunteered to play Ringo in a skit just because no one else would. Guess I shouldn't feel too bad for him, I'm pretty sure The Beatles are millionaires, hard to feel bad for someone with that much money."

Cathy hoped that her voice was not as bitter as it sounded in her ears. She had no problem with money, heck, Cathy hoped to have a lot of it someday; but she couldn't help but feel bitterness rise through her when she remembered that she had to leave Graves while girls who slept through class and never read the assignments continued to attend because their parents could afford the fee.

Bridget didn't say anything, but Cathy noticed she looked down at her saddle shoes for a second before looking back up.

XXXXX

Cathy wished she could continue talking about The Beatles; they were more interesting than she was. She _knew_ all about the Fab Four. But Bridget said, "tell me about yourself, Catherine," in such a nice tone that Cathy felt comfortable.

"I'm the oldest of seven kids," Right on cue Bridget's eyes widened and Cathy smirked, "it's not that bad. They're good kids, most of the time. I work part time at the hospital, I like to read, and I adore The Beatles, of course."

Laying everything out there just reminded Cathy of how uneventful her life was.

There was a lot more Cathy could have talked about: Mike, her secret summer fling that not even M&M knew about. How the best part about staying with Aunt Rita was having a room all to herself, even if she had to share the room with Aunt Rita's creepy China dolls who sat on the window sill like a demon processed jury, their vacant eyes looking right through her.

XXXXX

"Do you have some gum?" A boy with sandy hair poked Cathy on her shoulder, and Cathy opened her purse, fishing for a piece of Doublemint. Bridget opened her own more expensive purse. Not thinking, Cathy lifted up the package of cigarettes and pulled out a packet of gum. Bridget's eyes enlarged into huge green crystal balls and her nose crinkled up.

"Catherine, you smoke?" She sounded genuinely shocked, like Cathy just pulled out a gun and a ski mask and planned on robbing the F&M bank…

Cathy didn't know why, but she lied. "Nah, I just hold a package of cigarettes for my girlfriend, her parents would freak out if they caught her."

That was a twofer. Not only did _Catherine_ smoke, she didn't even have a close friend to hide cigarettes for.

XXXXX

Her name was Mrs. Girdlé and with her thick glasses and plump physique she gave off a matronly aura. The room smelled like dried paint and clay, easels rested against the wall, while on the opposite side of the room a dozen wooden and plastic hands, heads and arms sat on the windowsill.

They would have made great company for Aunt Rita's dead eyed China dolls.

Looking at Mrs. Girdlé adjust her broach Cathy resigned herself for a semester of painting bowls of fruits and if Mrs. Girdlé felt like cutting lose, hands. _Maybe._

Cathy sighed; she was actually looking forward to art class. For someone as practical and some would say rigid, as Cathy Carlson, she loved the idea of throwing caution to the wind and globs paint splotches onto a canvas.

XXXXX

The girl next to her had bushy brown hair and was tapping her fingers against the desk.

"Excuse me, do I know you from somewhere?" Cathy asked.

The girl shrugged, "I don't know, I don't think so…" she looked back down at her notebook.

The girl looked awfully familiar, Cathy didn't think she'd forget a girl with hair like that. What was it with this school and girls' hair? Between this girl and Bridget, Cathy might as well been bald.

The girl's tapping was getting on Cathy's nerves, when Cathy remembered where she knew her. "Do you work at the store on Sutton?"

The girl perked up, "yeah."

"My little brother, M&M, I mean Edwin, he works there too, he helps bag groceries a few hours after school. He needed the money because Mom and Dad weren't giving him enough of an allowance to pay for all of the books, candy and soda he likes."

Cathy chuckled, thinking of the mountains of M&Ms her brother hoarded in his bedroom.

It was funny, Cathy found it so hard to speak about herself, but she could talk about her brother for hours.

A look of recognition flashed across the girl's face, "oh yeah, he's a real nice kid." The girl had a nice smile.

Cathy beamed. Everyone loved M&M. He was a genius, an honest to God genius, but he was the sweetest boy in the entire world.

"He's the best," Cathy began before shaking her head, it was only a few months since she left Graves but she had already forgotten her manners, "Cathy Carlson, nice to meet you…" she extended her hand.

"Ella Mitchell," the frizzy haired girl replied.

XXXXX

Cathy couldn't help but notice that Ella kept on glancing at a tow-headed kid sitting a few rows behind them. The boy wore a sniveling expression, while his eyes were as cold as Aunt Rita's dolls. He propped his feet on top of the desk, and every time Cathy looked back, he looked right at her, a wolf ready to pounce.

 _Future con_ , Cathy thought to herself. Now if anyone was going to throw someone out the window, it would be that boy.

"You know him?" Cathy asked Ella, a tiny hint of worry underlying her question. She couldn't imagine this nice girl knowing someone like _that_ boy.

Ella shook her head, "I wish I could say no. But, I'm tutoring him."

"Good luck," Cathy whispered.

Ella only sighed, "thanks, I'm gonna need it." She went back to tapping on the table.

XXXXX

Mrs. Girdlé arranged paintings on the easels; large flowers, deserts, barren landscapes.

"Who knows the artist?"

Cathy glanced around, no one was saying anything. Cathy raised her hand, "Georgia O'Keeffe."

Mrs. Girdlé nodded, "that's right, one of our greatest living painters. I want you to notice not only her mastery of brush strokes and color, but what's going on underneath the surface. Art is a form of storytelling even more ancient than the written word. What story is Miss. O'Keeffe trying to tell us through her paintings?

For this semester's art project, each of you will be paired up to complete a self-portrait and a painting of your partner. But," Mrs. Girdlé pushed her glasses up, "I don't want you to draw a literal rendition, I want you to draw yourself and your partner as a natural object, as a metaphor."

Wouldn't it just be easier to draw hands? Cathy grumbled to herself.

"For example, if I were painting myself, I might see myself as a…"

"piece of shit," the tow headed boy murmured under his breath.

Cathy gripped the table, her face burned with righteous fury. She wanted to walk over to the boy and give him a piece of her mind, but no one saved Cathy and Ella and a few others appeared to hear him.

Ella shook her head, "he isn't worth it."

XXXXX

Ella and Cathy were paired up, and Cathy felt relief that she wasn't paired up with the rude boy, although she already envisioned how she would paint him: a cold-eyed wolf against a vacant winter landscape. She would even draw tiny pieces of wolf droppings in the picture, getting back at him for being so rude.

She felt bad when, due to an odd number of students, Mrs. Girdlé paired herself up with the boy.

"Well, Mr. Winston, it looks like we're going to be partners." The boy only gave her a dark grin, "it's going to be a blast Mrs. _Girdle,"_ purposely mispronouncing her last name.

 _Ugh! What an asshole._

XXXXX

Cathy looked at Ella, with her hair, and the way she kept on looking down at the table, Cathy was already envisioning her as Weeping willow.

She wondered how Ella would see her.

XXXXX

Evie bent down and yanked the dead bouquet of roses from the bottom shelf and tossed it in the trash; as she did, flakes of dead petals crumbled in her hands. Was this supposed to some sort of sign? Evie rolled her eyes, she could just picture Miss. Tracy gush about _symbolism_ and _metaphors. What did the rose 'mean'?_

 _Miss. Tracy always wanted her students to talk about 'subtext' and 'deeper meanings.' Evie figured that sometimes shit just happened. It didn't mean anything._

All it meant to Evie was that Dolores had forgotten to clean the bottom shelf. _Again_. But that wasn't a surprise. Dolores was a few months away from retirement but her eyes were already filled with visions of Greyhound buses, slot machines and disposable income.

She told Evie that she was planning on taking a trip to Atlantic City next summer. Evie wondered why she wouldn't want to go to Vegas instead? Vegas was much more exciting, with its endless casinos and neon lights, not to mention it was closer to Tulsa.

But Dolores practically glowed with such excitement when she talked about the casinos and boardwalks, that Evie thought she must have visited before. But no, Dolores just read about Atlantic City in _Ladies Home Journal_ five years ago and planned a trip ever since then.

Evie wondered where she would be in five years.

XXXXX

Someday, Evie was going to be a hairdresser, it was just that day was further away than Evie wanted. In the meantime, between putting in a full day at school, helping out at her mom's salon, looking after Beth, and put in the work of well, making her and Steve work, Evie put in a few hours every week at the hospital gift shop.

It wasn't much, but it helped stretched out the measly salary Evie made at the salon. When Evie told her father she got a job at the hospital, a small, surprised smile spread on his lips.

"You thinking about going into nursing? That's a good job, respectable."

No. Evie was not thinking about going into nursing; the idea of getting a shot still creeped her out, let alone giving someone else the shot. She figured patients wouldn't be too fond of having their nurse close her eyes and squirm as she punctured their vein with a needle.

Then there was the whole blood thing. For a self-styled tough girl, blood gave Evie the heebie-jeebies. When she had to make a delivery to a patient's room she kept her eyes straight ahead, hoping to avoid accidentally catching a glance at a doctor fresh out of the O.R. his scrubs slathered in scarlet.

Besides hairdressing was a perfectly respectable career. Dad should know that, his wife was a hairdresser.

Evie looked down at her nails; she always kept them in good condition. She wasn't a snob about her appearance like the Socy girls were, but she figured if she was going to be a beautician she should at least look the part.

Besides, who would want to get a manicure from some gal with brittle, chipped nails?

Evie looked down with disdain at her calf-length pink skirt, her uniform, at least her mother had approved _this_ outfit.

"Evelyn!"

Evie groaned internally, she hated being referred to by her full name.

"I'm going to deliver these flowers, you okay handling the shop, dear?" Evie only started working at the hospital a month ago, but with Dolores halfway out the door she practically ran the place.

She gave a small nod to her older co-worker and watched as the thickset, silver haired woman carefully placed bouquets of flowers on the 'flower wagon' and pushed away.

Evie could hear the cart squeak all the way to the elevator; she continued to clean the bottom shelf.

XXXXX

A girl with shoulder length jet black hair rang the bell at the cashier's desk.

 _Five times._

 _Hold your damn horses._ What was the huge emergency? As soon as that thought popped in her head Evie groaned, that was just the type of corny joke Beth would find hilarious.

Evie smiled a tight grin where annoyance and feigned politeness smacked lips.

She had good customer service skills.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh, I didn't think anyone was here," the girl said. It took Evie everything she had not to throttle her. Of course someone was here, Evie was just busy. She hated how the girl implied judgment on her just because she had to wait an extra few minutes.

The girl plopped a teddy bear with "Get Well Soon" embroidered across its stomach. The girl had on a blue uniform and white apron, according to her hospital name tag, her name was Cathy.

Evie didn't recall seeing her before, but again, a lot of people worked at Tulsa General.

Every night families and friends of patients stalked through the gift shop looking for the perfect card, flowers, teddy bear or candy for their sick loved ones.

Evie tried not snoop around in their business, she figured everyone, especially the sick, were entitled to their privacy.

Dolores on the other hand could talk the bark off a tree. Have someone mention that her husband was in for gallbladder surgery, and Dolores would top that with an anecdote of how both her son _and_ husband had their kidney stones removed- _on the same day._

The girl in front of her didn't seem particularly sad or worried, just impatient. She kept on glancing at her watch.

"You want a card with the bear?" Evie motioned towards a rack of "get well" cards, the sympathy cards were kept in back, hidden from view.

A slight smile came to the girl's face and Evie was amazed at how much younger she looked when she smiled, "No thanks; the teddy bear is for my little sister, it's her birthday today and I kind of forgot to buy her a present. She's two, so it's not as if she can read yet." A small smirk spread on Cathy's face.

Cathy blushed but looked straight at Evie, "I usually don't forget things like that, but with starting a new school…." Cathy said in an overly earnest tone.

"Where do ya go?" Evie didn't really care, but she wanted to be polite.

"Will Rogers," Evie couldn't fail to pick up on the slight note of distaste on the girl's tongue. Suddenly, Evie felt very defensive of her high school, which was amusing, because Evie didn't have particularly strong feelings about the place one way or the other.

It was kind of like with Beth; sometimes her kid sister annoyed the hell out her, but if anyone else ragged on Beth Evie would turn into a tiger, pounced for the kill. It helped that Evie, even when she didn't try, looked tough.

"Yeah, I go there, I don't remember seeing you around, are you a freshman?"

"Sophomore, I just moved." The girl's tone was polite, Evie supposed, but clipped, as if she couldn't be bothered making small talk.

The girl was a bit strange, Evie decided, she managed to alternate between friendly and bitchy in the same conversation. Evie didn't know what to make of her. She was an average looking girl, sorta pretty and cute, but no knockout. The kind of girl Evie could imagine working on when she owned her own salon.

* * *

 **S.E Hinton owns**

 **Thank you for reading!**


	3. Intercourse With Society

**" _And that's where the whole trouble is. We're too much alike to understand each other because we don't even understand our own selves."_**

 **―Betty Smith _, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_**

* * *

Evie tapped her pen against her desk repetitively, a dull look on her face. She really hated biology―the whole process of dissecting things, studying algae, or even cell structure bored her to death, not to mention, grossed her out. Her gaze landed on the girl who shared her lab table; she was intently staring at her worksheet, seemingly engrossed with the day's lesson. Evie couldn't fathom it, how one could be so absorbed in this stuff―it was sickening.

Then again, her lab partner, Helga Osbourne, was one of the―if not _the_ ―most geekiest girls at Will Roger's High School. Evie knew her since grade school, and she'd always thought the girl was rather strange. She was dating Floyd Wyatt, a tall and lanky hick with two missing teeth in the top of his mouth, compliments of Dallas Winston. Evie wasn't exactly sure what had ensued between the two boys, but it was said that Floyd accused Dallas of fixing races. Evie only knew him from the rodeos, though, as he was a friend of Buck Merril's, who was Dallas's rodeo partner. Evie thought he was a creepy character, and it surprised her that he would seek out the likes of Helga Osbourne―at least she had some . . . _decency_.

Feeling the girl's eyes on her, Helga glanced up, raising one bushy, uncombed eyebrow. "Do you need help?" Her gaze dropped to Evie's blank assignment.

It took Evie a second to realize the question was directed at her. She wanted to accept the offer, but with one look at Helga's yellow bucked teeth, she nearly gagged. Helga was nice and all, but she wasn't the most hygienic of people, and with her morning breath, combined with the smell of coffee wafting in her direction, Evie was surprised she hadn't gagged.

She forced a small smile onto her lips, which appeared more like she was gritting her teeth. "No, that's okay."

"Alright, well, suit yourself," Helga replied, and went back to her assignment, adjusting her incredibly thick-framed glasses, and then forcibly coughing to clear some mucus from her throat.

Evie went back to staring at her own worksheet, rolling her eyes and wishing that the class would just end so she could get out of there. She never really bothered to pay attention in biology, so she merely guessed on half of the questions, hoping for a decent grade, even though that feeling was blanketed with genuine bleakness. She was already failing the class, so any chance of passing the marking period was practically out the window.

What did she care, though? How the hell did this crap apply to her future when her ultimate desire was to become a beautician? She asked herself that question numerous times over, but it hardly did anything to settle her nerves when it came to actually passing the school year.

With another glance at Helga, she imagined what she would do to fix the girl's appearance. Well, she thought with an impish expression, some hot water and bleach would definitely be a start. Evie liked to picture herself styling hair, or painting nails, or . . . well _anything_ regarding beauty when it came down to it. She was always the one her friends would seek out when they wanted advice on their makeup, or input on how their hair looked, and Evie was all too happy to oblige them.

She could just see it, herself taking over her mother's salon . . .

The rest of the period droned on, and when the bell finally rang, Evie nearly ran out of the classroom, bombarding past three Soc girls, two of which offered her some nasty daggers. She didn't care, she told herself, it's not like they were really all that better than her―what, with their long skirts, high-collared sweaters, and their scuff-free loafers? Evie inwardly cringed just thinking about it. She was just fine enough in her own attire consisting of old worn shoes, a skirt that was threadbare and exposed a little too much of her legs, and a blouse which was old and tight, one button too many undone. Yeah, she told herself, she was just fine.

An arm snaked around her waist, causing her heart to speed up in her chest. She didn't even have to look to know who it was. The familiar touch and smell of cheap cologne gave him away, and Evie relaxed as she pressed herself a little closer to her boyfriend, all previous thoughts forgotten.

"You alright, babe?" he asked, fingers curling around her hip bone.

Evie nodded. "Yeah."

The two came to a stop at Steve's locker, and Evie instantly missed his touch as he pulled away from her to spin his combination. She studied him for a moment as he switched his math book out with his literature book, a black notebook crammed inside. There he stood, dark hair greased back in swirly curls, dark eyes bright and determined. He was cocky, and Evie liked that about him. His voice, which was low and cool sent tingles up and down her spine, and when she was alone in bed in the middle of the night, she often fantasized about him altogether, softly and quietly whimpering his name into her pillow, missing just exactly how he made her feel when _they_ were alone together.

She loved him, she told herself, she knew she did, because he made her feel . . . well, he made her feel _good_ about herself. They'd known each other for quite a long time, having grown up in the same town and all. Steve was a year older than her, though, but that one day last Spring when he'd asked her out, she had nearly fainted from shock, wondering if he was being serious or not, but he damn well _was_ serious, and he was serious after that when it came to her and their relationship.

Evie's thoughts were cut short, though, when Steve slammed his locker shut, both of them stunned to see Ella Mitchell standing there, looking scared out of her wits, her attention on Steve. Evie stared at her hardly for a moment, wondering just what she could want.

"What?" Steve's voice came out bitter and impatient. "You need somethin'?"

Ella looked like she might faint, and Evie's brows pulled together as she watched her. "You're Steve Randle, right?" she asked, and her cheeks turned a shade.

"Yeah, and?"

Now Evie was interested, more so than she was just a second ago. She'd only spoken to Ella once or twice, and she immediately thought the girl was weird―not weird or out there like Helga Osbourne, but weird enough. Still, though, she stood out somewhat, and Evie figured it was her head of bushy hair that did it. If not for that chaotic contribution to her overall ghostly pale features, the girl might as well have been invisible.

Ella continued on, trying not to look too embarrassed. "I'm looking for Dallas Winston. I'm supposed to be tutoring him.

Evie grimaced at the mention of Dallas, that white-haired devil. Glory, but she sure felt bad for Ella then, knowing just what kind of inconsiderate animal Dallas was. Evie wondered how Steve could buddy around with a guy like that, but she reminded herself that Steve was a greaser, too, and Dallas had come through for their "gang" more times than none―he was part of their little family.

Steve nodded, looking mildly put-off. "Yeah, sure. Listen, kid, I don't where he's at right now, but I'll pass the message that you're lookin' for him, dig?"

"Thanks," Ella replied, voice dull and apathetic.

Evie crossed her arms, pursing her lips, and once the girl was out of earshot did she speak. "Ella Mitchell is going to _tutor_ Dallas Winston?" The thought alone made her nauseous, and she felt horrible for the girl altogether.

"Guess so," Steve answered, and looked down at her. "You know her?"

She shrugged, pushing her dark hair off of her shoulder. "Not too well, but she's in gym with me. She don't hardly talk to any of the girls, though." She didn't bother to mention the fact that the two of them were paired up for their English assignment, or that they even shared Miss. Tracy's English class.

It was strange, Evie thought to herself. She had seen Ella in gym a few times, but she never bothered to pay her any mind. How the hell had she missed the fact that she and Ella were also in the same English class, too? It never occurred to her how unaware of her surroundings she really was until then, and with a sinking feeling in her chest, she and Steve walked to their next classes.

XXXXX

Her name was Cathy Carlson.

Ella thought she was nice enough, considerably so, especially in comparison to the other students at Will Rogers High. Ella was used to sitting alone in art, that is, until Cathy came along. The only seat left available in the room for the new student was at the table Ella occupied, save for the one across from Dallas Winston, but nobody in their right mind wanted to sit anywhere near him.

Cathy took her seat across from Ella, placing her bag in front of her feet on the floor. She offered Ella a smile, one which the brown-haired girl returned. They sat in silence for a few minutes while Mrs. Girdlé went on and on about the assignment they were given the day before. Ella was mighty glad, not to mention relieved, that Cathy had come along when she did, less she end up paired with Dallas.

Glory, she would be spending enough time tutoring the hood, and that was enough to make her feel as if she were suffocating in a six foot hole―he was _that_ awful.

While Mrs. Girdlé spoke, Ella stared at the new girl, wondering what she could compare her to. She was a pretty girl, she decided, with stormy eyes underneath perfectly arched eyebrows. Her cheeks were round and plump, her face framed with short, inky black hair. Ella immediately thought of an ocean, waves rising high above the surface, and a darkening sky with one lightning bolt. But that was only going on the girl's physical appearance, and she decided that she would need something more to go on.

She remembered their conversation from the other day, and thought of Cathy's brother―Edwin Carlson, or M&M, as most people knew him. He was an alright kid, real nice, too, not a whole lot like his sister, Ella thought, but she didn't really know her to make such an opinion, either.

"So," Ella said after a moment, her voice sounding a little nervous, "you're from Tulsa?"

Cathy glanced across the table at her, a small smile on her face. "Yeah. I was attending private school and stayed with my aunt over the summer."

"Wow," she replied, sounding intrigued. "I wish that I was able to leave Tulsa."

Cathy nodded, a thoughtful look on her face, as if she were attempting to analyze the girl. "Well, what would you like to do if you were ever given the chance to leave?" Her gray orbs seemed to lighten a bit as she continued. "What's your dream career?"

Ella shrugged, trying to imagine herself ten or so years down the road. "Gee, I'm not sure. I've always enjoyed writing and singing―maybe I'd be a journalist or something. Maybe a singer."

Deep down, Ella knew that she would never have the guts to get on a stage and sing in front of a bunch of people. Hell, she could hardly sing in front of her own mother. Still, it was like a guilty pleasure or something, she figured. She remembered briefly talking to Sylvia about it once at her job in the music store, and the girl had perked up at the thought and told her that they ought to start an all-girl band. Ella had flushed just imagining that, but the conversation was lost and never mentioned again. Besides, it wasn't as if Sylvia was actually being serious anyway.

From behind, Ella could hear Dallas muttering swears to himself, which was followed by the sound of paper tearing. Across the table, Cathy's lips curled back in revulsion, and Ella could tell just from her look that the girl despised the hood's very existence, not that Ella herself could fault her. At the sound of a stool toppling over, Ella craned her neck a little, trying to see what the commotion was all about, and she wasn't the only one, either.

Mrs. Girdlé was already on her way to the back of the room where the angry, towheaded teen resided, and Ella shook her head at his behavior. For a split second, their eyes met, and before Ella could blink, a rolled up piece of paper was sailing in her direction, bouncing off of the easel beside the table and landing next to Cathy on the floor. Ella's cheeks turned a shade as she left Dallas to Mrs. Girdlé, hoping that she would survive those upcoming tutoring sessions, because she had an awfully terrible feeling that she wouldn't.

Cathy, who was sneering in the direction of the blond-headed hood, turned her attention back to her partner, trying to strike up the conversation again. Her voice had come out somewhat sharp, her annoyance at the blond seeping through. "What kind of music are you into?"

Now that was a subject Ella could go on about all day. "Well, I dig The Rolling Stones, Elvis, The Four Seasons, The Beatles―"

Cathy's entire face lit up, but another emotion crossed her face, too, as if she were remembering something else. "You like The Beatles?"

Ella nodded. "Yeah. I know, everyone around here is―"

"No," Cathy interrupted, sounding amused. "I do, too!"

"Really?" Ella's voice nearly squeaked, and she blushed a little. Her blue eyes were excited, and she chuckled lightly as Cathy giggled at her reaction. Well, she thought with sheer pleasure, perhaps her and Cathy would get along just fine after all.

Perhaps the sky in her envisioned painting of the girl would be a lighter blue.

XXXXX

The girl's locker room was thick with steam, humid to a fault, and congested with various different smells of perfume and hairspray, and not to mention, clouded with powder. Evie hated gym, hated it more than any other class she had, which included biology. She disliked Mrs. Reynolds even more, though, for forcing the girls to shower after class. Something about showering with the other girls always made Evie feel vulnerable and on display.

"What are you thinkin' so hard about?" Sylvia asked from beside her, finger-combing her wet hair. Evie nearly choked to death when the girl added another hundred squirts of that floral shit she used all over herself. "Well?"

"Nothin'," she answered, using her arm to wipe the mirror. "I just hate this class."

"Don't we all?"

The girl rolled her eyes. Maybe Sylvia _did_ hate gym, too, but at least she didn't look like an emaciated muppet running across the field or doing laps around the track in her gym suit. Evie felt like some shriveled up vegetable every time she adorned her own, and the thought made her feel self-conscious. Thing was, for as uncomfortable as the damn thing made her feel in her own skin, she once socked Frankie Parker in the mouth for talking lousy about her during sophomore year when she and Sandy were heading back inside to use the bathroom.

As Evie leaned forward to put the finishing touches of her makeup on, she caught sight of a familiar looking girl standing behind her in the mirror. She had to do a double-take to make sure the girl she was looking back at was really Ella Mitchell. She hadn't recognized her with her hair practically flat to her head from being wet.

"Ella," she greeted, dropping her makeup kit inside her bag. "You look different." She mentally slapped herself for sounding so brazen, but when she saw the girl's smile, she brushed it off. She was surprised to see her, though, wondering what she could want. "You need something?"

The brown-haired girl shifted on her feet. "Well, do you have some time to discuss our English assignment? I was wondering when we could get together to work on it."

"Sure," Evie answered, aimlessly snatching a piece of gum from Sylvia's bag. She watched with a raised brow as the two girls greeted each other, surprised that Ella would even associate with the likes of Sylvia. They were two different breeds, Ella and Sylvia. Where Ella was timid looking and nearly invisible, Sylvia was well-known, not one ounce of shy running through her veins.

Once the two were done chatting, Sylvia heading in the direction of Angela Shepard and Jenny Arsele, Evie turned her focus on Ella. She imagined that the girl was uptight and on top of things judging from her appearance―she looked slightly severe.

"So, how far are you in . . . what book did Tracy give ya?"

Ella frowned. " _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ , and I've barely made a dent in it." A sigh. "You were assigned _The Scarlet Letter,_ right?

Evie almost felt relieved, and nodded in affirmation. "Same here. I read the opening and practically died of boredom." As the two headed toward the hall, Evie huffed. "Glory, you'd think Tracy was trying to make an accusation by giving me that book. If she was trying to say something at all, she should've just given me a red 'W' for whore."

The brown-haired girl snorted, eyes broad with wry amusement. "I don't think she meant to insinuate that."

"You don't?"

Ella shook her head quickly, chewing the inside of her cheek. "I guess we're supposed to just read and make comparisons of our books, then." She frowned. "Do you want to meet up at the library this weekend and try to figure something out?"

"She really outdid herself this time, though," Evie replied, sounding annoyed. "Assigning us as partners with these books, I mean. The only thing I'm making a comparison of is a labeled whore growing up in the city." She pursed her lips after a moment, looking like she was in thought. "I can meet up Saturday afternoon if that works for you."

Ella nodded, wondering if Evie knew the difference between _comparison_ and _combination_. "That's fine."

A smile formed on the dark-haired girl's lips. "You know, I'm glad I got paired with you. Lord knows I can hardly stand the other girls in that class."

Ella sympathized, she knew how it felt being an outcast. But the tone of Evie's voice hinted at something else, something more _personal_ , and her partner couldn't help but wonder what it was. She never really paid attention to the other students in her classes, well, save for Craig Bryant, a boy in her science class who made her chest tighten and caused her head to spin.

Evie continued on, and for a second, Ella wondered if she just needed to vent. "Just the other day―you remember when we got paired up in groups to do _The Catcher in the Rye_ assignment, right?―well, the new girl, whatever the hell her name is, tells me that I'm practically a female version of Holden just because I dig his character." She chewed hard on her gum. "Can you believe that?"

Ella immediately thought of Cathy Carlson as the new girl, but Cathy wasn't in their English class, was she? Shoot. "Cathy?"

"No, the stuck-up snob in our _English_ class," Evie replied, voice bitter. The girl's name was definitely not Cathy. She raised an eyebrow at Ella. "She's got crazy black hair, just moved here from the city not too long ago . . ."

As if someone flicked a light on, Ella's eyes widened in stark realization. "Oh, yeah. Bridget Stevens."

"Yeah, _her._ "

The shorter girl pursed her lips. She hadn't given Bridget much thought, although her wardrobe and style were something to be admired. Ella felt her heart sink in her chest as she wondered if she would ever be able to afford things like that, and judging from Evie's cold expression, her dislike of Bridget Stevens went further than just a snide insult―she envied the girl.

XXXXX

Ella sighed, tapping her fingers against the counter. She liked working the shifts at the store after school more than working the weekends. Usually, Jan, her co-worker, was there to keep her company for a while, but that particular afternoon, she wasn't. Ella felt bored out of her mind, her eyes flickering toward the break room as she thought about her English assignment.

She was a little nervous to meet up with Evie Martin that weekend, but in a way, she was also glad to be doing something other than going to work, not that she was scheduled for a shift Saturday. With a sigh, the brown-haired girl rested her chin in her hand, staring at the few customers who were doing some light shopping. As her thoughts drifted around the events that had occurred that day, Ella found her stare resting at the end of the register across from her, imagining M&M standing there bagging up some groceries, a smile brushing her lips.

She liked Cathy Carlson well enough, and the next time she saw her kid brother, she was going to have to tell him about meeting Cathy. She could just imagine the grin that would adorn his face as she mentioned how they were sharing the same art class and that they were assigned partners. Boy, his eyes would probably be bigger than saucers by the time she finished. M&M was a nice kid, everyone who met him couldn't resist his charm. He was just . . . _likable_.

"Excuse me?" a voice called, jarring the girl back into reality.

Ella's jaw nearly dropped as she looked at the girl standing in front of her―Bridget Stevens. Ella could hear Evie's voice in her head calling the wild-haired girl a stuck-up snob, but up close, Ella's impression was a little different. Sure, Bridget's exterior screamed upper-class, but she still looked like almost every other girl, except for her hair, which was a forest in itself. Her eyes were vivid green, bright and piercing. There was no doubt that she was pretty, but Ella couldn't imagine her as truly stuck-up. Then again, Evie had more interaction with the girl, unlike Ella, who was just about to utter her first word to her.

"Hi."

Bridget smiled a little, placing two items on the counter for Ella to ring up. She stared at her for a moment, and Ella assumed that she thought she might recognize her from class.

"Have I seen you before?"

Ella nodded. "We're in the same English class."

The girl's brows pulled together, and then her face lit up ever so slightly. "Oh, right! I'm new, so I don't really know everyone around just yet. I'm still getting used to things."

"Oh," came the reply. "That's okay."

Bridget continued on as she paid for her items, grabbing the little bag Ella had placed them in. "So, what book did Miss. Tracy give you for that assignment?"

" _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ ," Ella answered with a frown. "I was paired up with Evie Martin. What about you?"

At the mention of Evie's name, Bridget cringed a little, and Ella wasn't sure if it was out of disgust or embarrassment. "I was given _Their Eyes Were Watching God_ , and I'm partnered with Lucy Radner."

Ella inwardly grimaced when Bridget said Lucy's name. She definitely wasn't one of her _friends_ , so to speak. "That's a good one."

"You've read it?"

She nodded. "A while ago, yeah. It's a deep read, a little melancholic."

Bridget shrugged, a small frown on her lips. "Well, I can't wait to delve into it." She gave Ella another smile before leaving, and Ella couldn't help but wonder if she was being sarcastic or not.

She grinned to herself, though, finding it awfully humorous that Evie had seen the film adaption of the book that she was assigned, and that Ella herself had read the book Bridget was given. Strange how things seemed to . . . _connect_ like that. Or was it just a coincidence? Ella wasn't sure either way, but the thought was lost when another customer approached the counter.

XXXXX

Evie's eyes flickered toward the clock in Steve's car, a breathy sigh escaping her mouth as his lips worked her neck, hands expertly roaming across her body. It was rare that the two of them got moments like this alone together, so whenever either one of them saw the opportunity, they always went for it. Evie liked being alone with her boyfriend, liked the way they could talk about this and that, and she liked the way he treated her, the way he kissed her, touched her . . .

She gasped as his hand slipped under her blouse, the feeling of his calloused fingers forming goosebumps across her abdomen. It was only when they began traveling south did the girl jerk away, moving to sit up.

"Not tonight," she murmured, planting a light kiss on his mouth.

Steve looked a little annoyed, but he didn't hassle her about it―he never did. "Not a good time?" he guessed, pulling his shirt over his head, eyes fixed on her face.

"Not, it ain't _that_ ," she answered, pulling her bottom lip through her teeth, almost wishing it was. "I don't know. I'm just―"

Steve, picking up on his girlfriend's frustration, lit two cigarettes, passing one off to her. "Here," he said, moving to rest his arm around the seat. The tip glowed as he took a drag of his cigarette, dark eyes losing their earlier glassiness, his expression reflecting concern.

Evie leaned back in the seat, inhaling deeply. "Steve, can I ask you somethin'? It's something I've been thinkin' an awful lot about, and well, it's been eating at me."

He cocked an eyebrow, giving her an odd look. Steve loved Evie, really he did, but sometimes, and it was times like this, where he knew she was about to be dramatic over something, and usually, he would tune her out after a while. Judging from her fixated gaze, he knew he was in for one of her _deep talks_ , the kind that could put him to sleep if he didn't care about her so damn much.

"What is it?"

"Well"― _Here we go_ , he thought―"Beth said I dress like a whore."

Steve almost gagged. " _What?"_

Truth be told, Steve was no fan of Evie's kid sister. Beth Martin was just . . . annoying. Whenever he stopped by the house, the brat would intentionally sneak up on them, or purposely try to sit between them, or she would make kissy faces at them when Mr. and Mrs. Martin weren't looking. Steve just flat out couldn't stand her, but she was Evie's sister, and well, he _tolerated_ her.

Evie continued on. "It's just been buggin' me, you know? I keep thinking that I'm being labeled . . ."

He began to drown her out after that. Evie never showed any sign of caring what other people thought of her. Glory, she was a tough girl, one of the reasons that he was so attracted to her―that and the fact that she was good looking and had a great personality. He never thought she dressed like a whore; he'd seen worse than just skimpy attire. Perhaps she was just gaining a reputation because she hung around the likes of Sylvia. But what did it matter?

"Look, babe," he began, rubbing the space above his nose. "You ain't no whore, alright? You're _my_ girl, and I think you're beautiful, no matter how the hell ya dress, dig?"

Evie felt her heart beating faster as he leaned over to kiss her, his free hand cupping her cheek, and even though his feelings and support meant the world to her, his words did little to comfort her.

 **" _In all her intercourse with society, however, there was nothing that made her feel as if she belonged to it... She stood apart from mortal interests, yet close beside them, like a ghost that revisits the familiar fireside, and can no longer make itself seen or felt."_**

 **―Nathaniel Hawthorne, _The Scarlet Letter_**

* * *

 **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.  
**

 **A tremendous _thank you_ for all of the feedback on this story! We appreciate it and y'all so much!**


	4. Will the Real Bridget Please Stand Up?

_"_ _She had an inside and an outside now and suddenly she knew how not to mix them." –_ Zora Neale Hurston, _Their Eyes Were Watching God_

Vickie Harper, Cherry Valance, Marcia Powell, Missy Redar, Penny Simpson, and Bridget were all stood together in front of the school bulletin board, scanning…scanning…scanning…aha! Yes, that's what they were looking for. Vickie stepped back with a smug, prideful look on her face.

"I knew it," she declared. "See, I told the committee that 'Midnight in Paris' would be a _perfect_ theme, and what did they go for? That's right. It helps to have the power of persuasion on your side, girls."

Marcia and Cherry exchanged eye-rolling glances. This is the way Vickie had been her whole life, and it was the way she'd remain for the rest of it. "Vickie Harper strikes again," Cherry deadpanned, and the other girls tittered.

Vickie shot her a fake smile. In her head, Vickie was in constant competition with Cherry. That's the way it had always been. Marcia and Missy and Penny had always been very go-with-the-flow, but Cherry was always challenging her. Oh, they were friends for sure. But they were constantly head-butting. And with Bridget now in the mix, who knew where Vickie stood? She'd already heard that Jerry Thompson had his eye on her, which was just _perfect_ , wasn't it? "Well, it wasn't hard," Vickie said. "Not like your idea was any better."

Cherry scowled, but before she could say anything, Bridget said, "Is homecoming a big deal around here?"

The other girls stared. A couple of them may have gasped. Missy's mouth hung open a bit. Bridget blushed and shuffled her feet. "Was…was that a stupid question?"

Vickie recovered quickly. This girl sure did need a lot of work, though. "No, not stupid," she shook her head, and she gestured for the girls to all start following her. "But yes, it's a big deal. A whole week of activities, the big game on Friday, and then the dance Saturday night."

"I suppose you need a date for something like that," Bridget sighed.

"Well, it'd be awfully strange for you to show up _without_ one," Vickie said, trying to keep the _'well, DUH'_ out of her voice.

Again, Cherry and Marcia glanced at each other. They _liked_ Bridget, and they had the feeling Vickie did, too, in her own way. But why was she treating her like a child? It was not only rude, but it had to be somewhat embarrassing for Bridget. She wasn't helpless.

"Strange things happen all the time," Marcia said cheerfully, "and stranger things have happened than _that_."

"Yeah, I don't see why the only way you should be able to enjoy homecoming is if you have a date," Missy shrugged, Penny wordlessly nodding along. (Penny was almost always wordless.)

Vickie huffed in frustration. "Well, that's what the rest of the week is for. And we have to cheer at the game anyways. So there ya go."

Vickie was a master at ending conversations. Bridget wandered into first period feeling as if she'd just come from an alternate universe, a bit in a fog. She sat down next to the freshman she'd been seated next to – Ponyboy Curtis, one of many boys with odd names in an odd town – and listened to the morning announcements. Nominations for homecoming court would be held this week and announced Monday. Bridget wondered if she might ever get even a few votes for something like that. She doubted it. Homecoming queen would end up being somebody like Cherry or Vickie or some senior. Bridget knew that almost nobody knew what to do with her. She knew that all too well.

"Do you have to have a date to go to homecoming?" Bridget wondered aloud, but not loud enough for anybody beyond her table to hear her. Ponyboy briefly glanced at her, but he never seemed to be able to keep eye contact with her for very long. Ponyboy seemed very inexperienced when it came to girls, but Bridget's brain refused to believe that the sight of her might make him even the least bit flustered.

"My brothers always had dates," he half-mumbled, shrugging, though the shrug looked more like a jerking movement.

"Oh," she muttered.

Bridget figured she just wouldn't go, then. Nobody would ask her, most likely, and cheering at the game would be fun enough. Besides – most people had probably known who they would be going with for months. Nobody had even known her that long.

As she went from first to second period, art to American history, she wondered if homecoming was something those east-siders liked going to. Or was it something they considered uncool? Would a girl like Evie want to go? Bridget knew she had a steady – Steve Randle – but just because she had a steady didn't mean anything when it came to attending school functions.

But Bridget didn't mind school dances. In fact, she sort of liked them.

What she didn't like was second period. Not because of the subject matter, but because of a certain prick that sat right behind her, who always smiled at her when she walked into the room. She was certain that he made sure to get there as quickly as possible so he could be seated before her and piss her off. The thought made her cheeks heat up, and she thought she just might explode when she saw him that morning.

"Well, _howdy_ , Miz Bee."

Bridget took a deep breath and slumped into her seat. Oh, this boy. Would there ever be a day (when he was actually at school that is) when he wouldn't feel the need to bug her? Probably not, she thought glumly. She shouldn't say anything, she shouldn't acknowledge him, she shouldn't respond, she shouldn't –

"Well, _hey_ , Two-Bit."

She always responded.

XXXXX

"…and I'll see _you_ later, Bee Stevens!"

Bridget couldn't resist the urge to turn around and scowl at Two-Bit, who just winked back at her, then cackled and walked away in the opposite direction. Bridget shook her head – he was the worst, but at least she only had to put up with him once a day. But that nickname was really starting to catch on, which was pissing her off.

Anyway.

Bridget ran her thumb along the spine of _Their Eyes Were Watching God_ as she clutched it close to her chest. English was next. She didn't know how far Lucy was into [her book], but Bridget had picked hers up – only meaning to maybe get a chapter or two in – and hadn't been able to put it down. Zora had her from " _Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board_ " and hadn't let her go. That Ella girl had been right, it was a melancholy read, but Bridget wasn't unfamiliar with the feeling. She had no problem, really, letting the melancholy fill her and allowing herself to sit with it for a bit. Sure, she'd laid in bed and cried some, with the book sitting on her chest, feeling like a wimp because _Jesus_ she cries a lot and she's had just about enough of it, but it was always nice to be reminded that she could _feel_ something.

"Bridget!"

At first, it didn't register with her that someone had called her name, but when she heard it again, she stopped and turned to see Catherine Carlson approaching her. Bridget smiled a little. Catherine was a nice girl. She didn't know her very well yet, but they were both new and navigating this new school together, so she felt like she could understand her at least in that capacity. That, and in their love for the Fab Four.

"Hi, Catherine," Bridget greeted, feeling nicer and calmer than she had earlier when having to deal with Two-Bit. "How're you?"

Catherine shrugged. "I'm alright," she said. "This place sure is big, isn't it?"

Bridget nodded. "It sure is. I get lost just about every day." She glanced at Catherine. Bridget _so_ envied her hair. Hers looked so _healthy_ and…tamable. "Are you liking it here so far, though?"

Another shrug. Was Catherine ever really sure of anything? "It's alright." (She's _alright_ , it's _alright_.) "Um. It's just strange to compare this place to Graves. There really is no comparison."

"Well, I don't know anything about your old school obviously, but I don't know. This place is sort of gorgeous for a high school," she said, referencing the art deco décor, "even if some of the people…"

"Are absolutely terrible," Cathy grumbled, her expression darkening some. Bridget smirked.

"You seem to know exactly what I mean," she said, laughing a little. Cathy nodded vigorously.

"There's this boy in my art class," she sighed. "Dallas Winston. He's…" she shook her head. "He's…"

"Terrible," Bridget finished for her, having heard plenty about _that_ particular hoodlum. "I've heard some things. One of his _buddies_ sits behind me in history. From what I've heard he's not as dangerous, but he's got to be at least ten times as obnoxious."

"Well, good luck."

Bridget snorted. "You too. Say, you going to homecoming?"

Cathy looked unsure. "I don't know. Is that a big deal around here?"

Bridget feigned shock. "Is it a _big deal?"_ She repeated, acting surprised even though she'd asked that very same question that morning to her friends. "Of course. I mean, I've never been to a homecoming dance here, obviously," (or ever), "but I mean…I've _heard_."

"Well, I don't exactly have a date…I mean, don't you need a date?"

Bridget didn't know. "I could get you one, if you wanted," she suddenly offered. Cathy scrunched up her face a bit, and Bridget felt her face get hot. "Only if you wanted, though," she quickly added on. "I mean, and that's only if you _really_ want to go at all! I'm…" Bridget sighed. "Well. Anyways. I don't even know if I'm going. But I'd help you, if you want."

The poor girl was a bumbling mess. Why did she always do this? _Ugh_. She felt sorta sick to her stomach and was about to make a hasty retreat to the nurse just to get out of this situation, but Cathy didn't seem too bothered, actually.

"Well, I still don't know if I want to go, but thanks for offering anyways." Cathy shot her a smile. "And hey – I guess if we don't find dates, we could just go for fun anyways."

Bridget liked the idea (even though a tiny part of her desperately wanted a boy to ask her), so she quietly nodded and grinned back at Cathy, wondering how this younger girl managed to be so much more put-together than she was.

XXXXX

The early minutes of English were rowdy, and Bridget sat next to Lucy wordlessly. She glanced across the classroom to Evie and…yes, that was Ella. Ella Mitchell? That sounded familiar.

 _This is knowing people_ she thought to herself, but then she had to remind herself, _No. This isn't knowing people. It's recognizing them. You don't know Ella any better than you know anybody else._

They had the class to work, so that's what they did. Over across the room, Evie slammed _The Scarlet Letter_ onto her desk and Ella watched on at her dramatic little production as she gently set _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ out. Where Evie was bright colors and big (styled) hair and perfectly (over)done makeup, Ella sat next to her feeling drab and dull in comparison. She couldn't pull off Evie's style, not ever. But she didn't realize that Evie herself would glance at Ella and think to herself that maybe it wouldn't always be such a bad thing to display a little modesty, if only to keep potential rumors at bay. The girls at Will Rogers were ruthless. Especially those snobby soc girls. But it's not like Evie's friends were much better. When she and Sylvia and Kathy (the Girlfriend Coalition, as Evie liked to refer to themselves) got together, they hardly ever talked about their boyfriends. They could gossip and be just as cruel as girls like Vickie Harper and Lucy Radner.

Natural order of things.

"Miss Tracy has really outdone herself," Evie sighed. "Makin' us read two books at the same time. And you know we've got more comin'. I heard the next class book after _Catcher in the Rye_ is some play. Where do they come up with this stuff to make us read?"

Ella just shrugged. "I don't know. There's probably some sort of list."

"Yeah, well, I think it's too much. Anyways, have you made any more progress?"

"A little. I was thinking about comparisons we could make, and, well, both of our books have main characters that are girls. That's something."

Evie considered it. "Yeah. But it ain't much of something yet. It's a start, though. Better than I got. I mean, we'd have to know more about our characters first."

"Yeah," Ella nodded. "We could maybe center our entire project around them."

"Sounds good to me," Evie declared, sighing. "This is boring. Let's talk about something else. You going to homecoming?"

Ella looked a bit surprised that she asked. Evie was going. She'd roped Steve into already, and he had a hard time saying no to her. Besides, Evie liked going to dances. They were fun. She could blow off some steam. When Steve wanted to blow off steam, there were three things he wanted to do: drag race, steal some hubcaps, or fuck. Evie had taken it upon herself to try and help him redirect.

"Oh. I don't know," Ella trailed off. "Um. I'm not sure. I don't have a date."

"So?" Evie shrugged. "Go with a friend." Evie didn't consider that maybe Ella didn't have friends to go with. "You could buy a cute dress, or alter one. And you'd be good to go." Well, almost. "But you'd have to do something with that hair of yours."

Ella huffed a laugh, not sure if she should be offended or not. "Oh, yeah. Right. I'm not very good with hair. Or…beautification in general."

Evie finally perked up. "Well, I am. Heck, if you wanted, I could do your hair for you. It'd be a good challenge. And I can do nails, too."

Evie suddenly liked this idea. She needed to test her skills, and Ella? Ella was the _perfect_ project.

XXXXX

When Bridget arrived home that afternoon, she ran inside and slammed the front door shut behind her. She walked through the quiet house, late-day autumn sunshine coming through the windows as she made her descent up the stairs. The orange skirt she was required to wear as a cheerleader matched the scene. If anyone had seen her at that moment, they'd have seen a tiny young woman bathed in yellow sunlight and wrapped in school colors, tightly clutching Zora Neale Hurston's masterpiece in hand, so hard her knuckles had turned white. Then she stood in her room, staring at herself in the mirror.

There was a boy.

(There was always a boy.)

Jerry.

(Jerry Thompson.)

He'd asked her to homecoming. She'd said yes.

(For some reason, this concerned her.)

But first thing's first: this skirt-and-sweater set needed to come off. Now. Because Lucy was coming over to work on their project, and Bridget wasn't about to just sit around like this.

 _"_ _Hey, Bridget."_

 _Jerry was sweating and shining in the sun like some sort of bronzed Greek god. Whenever she saw him, a lump grew in her throat. She'd never thought of herself as having a type, let alone that type being the athletic kind, but here he was, standing in front of her._

 _"_ _Hi," Bridget squeaked, trying to smile. "How was your practice?"_

 _Jerry shrugged. "Not bad. Arm feels good. Need my wide receiver to…" He trailed off, noticing that Bridget looked a bit lost already. "Well, it was good," he grinned. "Yours?"_

 _"_ _Fine, fine," she said. "It's not hard to remember cheers. Not exactly the most stimulating thing."_

 _Jerry laughed. "Well, anyways…I was wondering if I could ask you something?"_

 _"_ _Sure," Bridget shrugged. "What's up?"_

 _Jerry looked a bit nervous, actually. "Um. Well, I was wondering if you'd like to go to the homecoming dance with me."_

"Bridget! Your friend is here!"

Bridget came back down to earth for the moment, but she still wasn't wholly there. She still felt like she was floating as she went back downstairs where she found her father letting Lucy into the house. Lucy was still dressed in her school clothes, and Bridget felt dowdy next to her in her jeans. But she'd seen Colleen Corby in a pair! She could wear jeans if she damn well wanted to!

"Hi, Lucy," she said, wishing her father telepathically away.

"Hi, Bridget," she grinned. "Thanks for inviting me over. You too, Mr. Stevens."

Dr. Stevens didn't correct her. He just smiled at the girl and told the two of them that he would be in his office if they needed him. The two were left in the front room, Lucy hanging her coat up and Bridget left standing with her book in hand. It wasn't often that she had people over. Funnily enough, her father had always been the social one, not his teenage daughter.

"So," Bridget sighed once the two of them had gotten up to her room, Lucy sitting at her desk and Bridget sitting with her legs spread out in front of her (something she couldn't have done _if she wasn't wearing pants!)_ "how far have you gotten?"

Lucy held up her copy of _Candide_ wryly. "Not far. What exactly are these books supposed to have in common, huh? I've got a book about some French boy, and you've got one about a black woman. What's the deal?"

Bridget shrugged. "Maybe it was random."

Lucy shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "I think Miss Tracy very carefully planned all this out."

The thought that Miss Tracy had very carefully thought out which book each of them were given made Bridget's stomach do a flip-flop. (Why was it that she was always feeling sick to her stomach?) She couldn't quite bring herself to believe that. Miss Tracy couldn't know them that well yet. To believe what Lucy was saying was to believe that Miss Tracy had stereotyped and pigeon-holed all of her students from day one. Bridget was much more comfortable believing it was all random.

"I've already finished my book," Bridget said quietly, and Lucy's eyes bugged out a bit.

"Really?" She asked. "Wow."

Bridget shrugged. "It was good. It made me cry."

Lucy seemed slightly stunned for a moment, but then she started snorting with laughter. That really made Bridget feel like crying _again_. Maybe she was about to start her period. Or maybe she was just sick and tired of feeling different. So what if she cried? Hell, Bridget cried all the time. She scowled, but Lucy didn't seem to notice.

"What's so funny about that?" Bridget asked, defensive.

Lucy sighed and wilted. "Nothing, nothing. Just you," she said, as if it were all so simple. Bridget huffed.

"Anyways," she went on, "maybe you ought to read a bit more. It might make this easier," Bridget suggested, trying to keep herself from sounding too judgmental or bitter because there was a certain dignity, she realized, in taking the high road, though she did not always travel it. And when she said that perhaps Lucy ought to read a bit more, she wasn't just talking about _Candide_. Bridget didn't think she was as smart as her father, but she also realized the benefit of being well-read.

Bridget was well-read. She was. Her father wouldn't let her get away for not being so. And that is why she cried for Janie. Because as her father said – the more you read, the more human you became.

XXXXX

"Beth – time to am-scray."

Beth groaned dramatically and rolled over on her bed to face her big sister. "Ya know, I _am_ fourteen. It's not like I don't know what you guys are talking about up here. Why can't I stay?"

Evie glared at Beth. She kinda hated it when he pointed it out, but Steve was sometimes right – Beth _could_ be a pest. Then again, Steve sorta hated everybody younger than them. He didn't like Beth or Ponyboy, Sodapop's little brother. Evie thought Ponyboy was an OK kid, and she loved Beth and all, but they were sometimes sorta annoying. Ponyboy really wasn't mature enough for high school, Evie had once realized, but he was there and there wasn't much they could do about it now. And even though he was loathe to admit it, Steve – along with the other boys, Dallas and Two-Bit – had his back. And Evie had Beth's.

But there was still no way in hell she was gonna let her kid sister hang out with her and her friends.

"Because I said so," Evie said. "So _get_."

Beth looked a little hurt, and she stuck her tongue out at Evie and ran downstairs to presumably bug their mother. As she was leaving, Kathy and Sylvia came into her bedroom. They rotated whose house they stayed at all the time, and it was Evie's turn to play hostess. Sure, she probably had the nicest parents who were maybe a bit hover-y, but the girls still usually managed to sneak something in. Kathy's parents were the hardest to get anything by. Reverend Lawson was a temperance man. Kathy was the antithesis of a PK. She should've been sweet, but she wasn't. Likewise, Sylvia was known around town for being a whore, but she was actually pretty nice once you got to know her. There's a lot to be said for first impressions.

"Thanks for kickin' the kid out," Kathy said, her and Sylvia both flopping down on Beth's bed, having no problem getting all over her stuff. Kathy was the baby of her family, and she, like Steve, had no problem talking shit about kids younger than them.

"She knows the rules," Evie shrugged. Sylvia was busy rummaging through her bag, pulling out junk food and magazines and cheap, shitty, fruity wine that wasn't even really good for a buzz, just the thrill of being taboo.

The Coalition really wasn't much these days. After the whole thing with Sandy and Sodapop, three suddenly felt a whole lot smaller than four. And Evie and Sandy had been pretty tight. These girls had otherwise been brought together because all their boyfriends were friends – and now Kathy and Sylvia weren't dating them anymore.

Evie was the holdout.

And she wasn't about to give Steve up.

"Alright, Kathy," Sylvia began, "spill it."

Kathy leaned up against the wall and sighed. She didn't exactly seem sad. She didn't exactly seem upset. She seemed about as neutral as she could be. Kathy and Two-Bit weren't exactly strangers to the concept of an on-again, off-again relationship, so Evie and Sylvia weren't sure if they should really take this situation seriously or not.

"It was the week that Johnny Cade knifed that soc," she said. "We were s'posed to go out. Pretty much as soon as he picked me up, we started fightin'. He's such a dumbass." Kathy shook her head. "He and all his friends. Gettin' involved with all the wrong people."

"That's a good one, considerin' your brother's a fuckin' hood."

"Shut up, Sylvia. Anyways, I tell him to take me home, that I don't wanna see him that night. And I wasn't gonna break it off, ya know? But I don't know what happened, but one second we're talkin' and the next second we're spinnin' out into the intersection cuz this bastard's brakes went out, and then we're _sittin'_ there, just starin' at each other, and he looks at me and says 'I think we're done, Kathy', and that was that."

Evie watched Kathy for a moment. She looked confused, almost. Evie didn't really know Two-Bit all _that_ well, but they'd grown up together, just as they all had, and she knew him well enough. Kathy and Two-Bit had been on and off for a long time now, but what surprised Evie was that it seemed that it was Two-Bit who was the one who'd finally, officially, forever called it quits. And that fact seemed to be what was confusing Kathy.

 _Steve would never do this to me_ Evie thought, confident. _He'd never leave me like this. He'd never want me to feel this way._ Evie knew this. She knew this like she knew the Earth was round. She _knew_ this. It was so true, it could be in a textbook.

"Sorry to hear that," Evie said, feeling as if they probably weren't getting the whole story.

"But don't feel too bad," Sylvia tacked on, cracking open a Coca-Cola. "He ain't shit. He's stupid to break up with you. Now you can date whoever the hell you want, show him what he's missing."

"Like the sound of that," Kathy said, and tapped her bottle with Sylvia's. "Evie, that Steve Randle may be the grumpiest son of a bitch alive, but at least he likes ya."

Evie shrugged. "True."

Sylvia raised an eyebrow. "Don't he?"

"'Course he does," Evie scowled.

Of course he did. He had to. But Evie still thought of _The Scarlet Letter_ , sitting at the bottom of her purse, weighing it down like a brick. She thought of girls like Kathy and Sylvia, who bounced from boy to boy like it was nothing, like nobody had any feelings, like nobody ever got hurt. Two-Bit may have hit on any blonde in a skirt and Dallas may have been…well _Dallas Winston_ , but she'd never heard of them stepping out. Evie's friends had been with countless guys, but it was Evie who felt like she was the one who'd been marked. And all she'd ever done was wear her skirt a bit shorter. She'd never slept around.

It was all starting to feel a bit unfair.

"So I guess this means y'all ain't going to homecoming then," Evie said.

Kathy and Sylvia looked at each other and then burst out laughing. Evie rolled her eyes to the ceiling, prayed to God to make them shut up with whatever means possible.

"Homecoming's for squares," Kathy laughed, Sylvia nodding along.

"Or prissy girls with rods up their asses. Hey, you think I could get on homecoming court?" Sylvia asked, batting her eyelashes and making Kathy laugh. "That shit is stupid. It's just a popularity contest."

Evie shrugged. "Well, sure, but that don't mean it ain't a good time."

Kathy snorted. "It ain't, for girls like us."

Kathy sure did know how to bring down a room. Even Sylvia seemed affected by the statement. _Girls like us_.

But what kind of girls, exactly, were they?

XXXXX

 **AN: Of course, we also don't own** ** _Candide –_** **Voltaire does. And Colleen Corby was a model back in the sixties.**

 **Thank you all for reading! You guys rock!**


	5. Of Homecoming and Hairdos

**_I've been absolutely terrified every moment of my life - and I've never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do. -Georgia O'Keeffe_**

* * *

Dallas Winston shook the excess water off his threadbare clothes. With a thunderous glare, he looked past the model hands on the windowsill and out the art room window; of course the fuckin' downpour had to stop the moment he walked in the building.

Dally was in a bad mood and being stuck in Girdlé's art class with dopey Ella Mitchell did nothing to make him feel better. What made him feel better was kicking the back of Jerry Thompson's chair and throwing soaked paper wads at him.

"What the hell is your problem, Winston? You want to take it outside?" Thompson said in low voice, pulling pieces of soaked paper off his husky frame.

Dal merely yawned, "ooh, 'take it outside' I'm supposta be shaking right now, huh?" Dally's words were cool, but his hot temper forced his hand into a fist. He was dangerously close to knocking Thompson's two front teeth.

But something stopped him. It wasn't the fear of Thompson or the Vice Principal's paddle. Not that he would take being paddled. Fuck, Ol' Leon even thinks of paddlin' him and Dally would be back in prison on a homicide charge.

He had no fear of beltin' at home either. In his neighborhood a dad who didn't belt his kid once in a while was a rare bird, and his Pops was a regular ol' shit reeking pigeon just like the rest of 'em. A proud grin spread across the towhead's elfish face when he remembered the last time his ol' man belted him. Busted Dally's lip. Pops couldn't see out of his left eye for a week.

Pop never belted Dally again.

 _See, I was right kid, get tough and fight back, and nothing and nobody can hurt you._

What stopped Dallas Winston from fucking up Thompson's perfect teeth was the thought of going back to jail.

He mess up at Will Rogers and he would be on his way to serve a five year sentence at the Big House. Not that Dal was afraid of no prison, but being stuck in a 5x8 cells with a bunch of sweaty guys wasn't really what Dallas Winston had in mind for a good time.

Dally crumpled up his drawing and angrily threw it in the trash basket. He felt like the biggest punk in the world.

Taking his switchblade out of his pocket he began to carve a few unrepeatable words into the desk. Standing up to sharpen his pencil, Thompson smirked at Dallas, "why Winston, I didn't know you could even write. Guess the county prison 'learn to read' program is better than I thought."

Rage exploded from Dally's pale, slouchy frame, dropping his blade on the table; he knocked Jerry Thompson to the ground.

Jerry was a better fighter than Dal gave him credit for. In one fell swoop he pushed Dal off and pinned the greaseless-greaser against the wall. Thompson's arms locking him in place. Dal, in spite of himself, grimaced and eyed his blade, its handle still spinning on the table.

"Thompson! Winston, break it up now!" Girdlé yelped out.

 _Well, shit, took Girdlé long enough to realize that two of her students were trying to kill each other._

The entire class turned to the back corner; stools and chairs scraped against the floor. A few guys stood up, like they were going to attempt to break up the fight.

Ol' Girdlé, her glasses slapping against her boobs, ran to the back of the classroom. Jerry let go of Dally and Girdlé, still looking shaken, shifted her eyes from boy to boy.

Dal expected her to send them to Leon's office but instead she moved to the front of the class and continued to talk as if nothing happened; "now by the end of this week I want you each to have a preliminary idea of how you want to represent your partner. Remember, you don't need to make a direct comparison, if your partner is tall, you don't need to draw him as a Redwood, get to know them, find out what makes them tick and go beyond physical appearance."

Dal noticed that when she said 'tick' her eyes went right to him. Dally rolled his own eyes back at her.

The last five minutes of class some dark haired chick with high arched eyebrows that sat next to Dopey Ella kept on looking back at him. So, Dal figured he'd do the friendly thing, and wave at her. He just forgot to include his thumb and three fingers. The girl wasn't as ugly as Ella but she wasn't no looker either. Not that Dal was on the hunt for a girl or nothing, but if he was gonna be stuck at Will Rogers they could at least give him some broads worth looking at.

The black haired girl didn't blush or snitch or nothing, she just shook her head and went back to her work.

 _Stuck up little broad._

Ol' Gird kept Dally and Thompson after class. She asked the boys what happened, of course she asked Thompson first. Dal glared at his teacher and tightened his fists at Thompson. Teachers were always taking the word of douchebags like Thompson over greases like Dal.

To Dal's surprise, Thompson gave is straight. Not adding or taking away nothing, including his stupid crack about Dal being illiterate. He may even looked a bit guilty, but Dal could give two shits.

"Is this so, Mr. Winston?" The art teacher looked at him, and pulled her stupid glasses closer to her nose.

Dal shrugged, "yeah, guess so," and popped a piece of gum in his mouth.

She sighed, like she actually gave a flying fuck, and wrote Jerry Thompson a three day detention for fighting and told him he could leave. Thompson started to stammer about fighting in self-defense.

 _God for such a big guy he sounded like a whiny little bitch._

She smiled at Jerry, "I know Mr. Thompson, but you know this school has a no fighting policy, just be glad it's three days and not a week."

Jerry nodded politely but the moment he turned his back, his shoulders bunched up and huffed out the room.

 _Fuckin' pussy._

Dal crossed his arms, expecting the matronly woman to write him a detention slip when she looked at the towhead's iced eyes, "I could write you a detention, Mr. Winston, but I have a feeling that's not going to make a difference."

Anger rushed through Dal, so this was it, huh? He got in one little scuffle with a douche Soc football player and he was gonna get suspended or kicked out of school. Fuck ol Girdlé, fuck Jerry Thompson. Dal grabbed his books, ready to storm out of the classroom and out of Will Rogers, when the art teacher's words broke into his internal rant.

"You know Mr. Winston, I was taking a look at your um, 'carvings' and content aside, you have a distinct style of handwriting, your drawings too are very expressive," there was the slightest curve of a bemused smile on the older woman's mouth.

"So what, now you goin' through my trash?" Acidic anger poured out of Dal's mouth. Those drawings, no one was meant to see them. Hell, even Dal didn't like looking down at the jeans jacket and coal black eyes. Didn't like to think about what they meant. Of who they reminded him of….

"Well, Mr. Winston, I apologize if you feel I invaded your privacy; I assure you, I haven't gone through your trash, but from what I have seen from walking around _my_ classroom, you have an interesting style." If she was pissed at him, she didn't show it, if anything she seemed almost amused at Dally's outburst.

Usually Dally would play it cool, using his winter-ice eyes and cold expression to do all talking for him, but before he knew it, the words spewed from his mouth.

"Yeah, so what you tryin' to say?" If she was tryin' to get him to butter him up with compliments so he'd behaved she was in for one rude surprise. Sides, Dally have talent? Who the hell was she kidding?

 _Fuckin' ridiculous._

He cracked his gum loudly, but the middle aged teacher didn't blink.

"What I'm saying, Mr. Winston is that instead of spending a few hours in detention, I think your energy and creativity can use another outlet. I'm assigning you to the Homecoming Art and Design Committee."

If Mrs. G wasn't an old lady Dally would have throttled her pea-brained neck right there _. Homecoming Committee? Art and Design?_

 _Was she fuckin' nuts?_

"You nuts, lady? You want me to be part of Homecoming? I ain't doing it. Send me to Leon, kick me outta school," _send me to prison_ , Dally thought to himself, "I ain't doing it."

Dally locked eyes with the older woman, but to his surprise, she looked right at him, not taking her eyes of his thunderbolt glare.

"This isn't just because of your little scuffle with Mr. Thompson…" She then went on to list all of the Dal's misbehaviors in class; throwing the wad of paper at Dopey Ella, defacing school property, giving the finger to the black haired broad with the stuck-up eyebrows.

Dal grunted, jeez, what was this, _Candid Camera_? With this shit he might as well be in the slammer.

"I'm giving you an option, Mr. Winston; it's either Homecoming or suspension."

Dally didn't say anything, he walked up to the windowsill pushed one thumb and three fingers down on the wooden model hand, leaving the middle one up.

He stormed out of the room.

She had her answer.

XXXXX

"Checkmate." With a serious grin that only he could pull off, M&M Carlson put his father out of his misery.

Jim Carlson sighed with mock frustration and shook his eldest son's hand, "well done Mr. Fischer."

Cathy couldn't help but beam as she walked up to father and gave him a peck on the cheek. The only thing hip about Cathy was the two joints that held up her slender figure, but Cathy wasn't ashamed of how much she truly loved her family.

Even the little kids, loud mouthed brats that they were, could be fun and sweet. _At times._

"When did you get home, Daddy?"

Mr. Carlson worked for an insurance company downtown and his arrival home was usually met with sticky hugs and stampede of little feet. Cathy was too busy getting her room set up for Ella's arrival to notice.

"A little over an hour ago, hey you want to play a game? Your brother already beat me three times in a row; I might as well add another loss to my records," the thick haired man said with a benign smirk.

Cathy wasn't surprised that M&M beat their father in chess. M&M was a genius, a genuine Einstein with shaggy black hair and a sharp pointed nose. His English teacher was practically begging their parents to let him test into the eighth grade, saying that he was the most brilliant mind she'd ever run across in 26 years of teaching.

"He knows it all, Mr. and Mrs. Carlson, I can't teach him. _He's beyond me_." Mrs. Carlson repeated with heaping of pride and a dash of worry to Cathy.

But M&M wouldn't budge, "I like it in her class," he told his slack jawed parents. "Besides, if I'd test into the eighth grade in a few months some English teacher or math teacher would just say that I should be testing into the 9th grade or 10th grade."

From most kids that would come across as conceited, but not, Cathy thought, from M&M. He was the most honest kid she ever knew. He never bragged about himself, he couldn't help it that every single one of his teachers went positively gaga over his brain.

Both Momma and Daddy were smart and Daddy's job made it possible to support a family of nine; but money in the Carlson's house was a tablecloth that never quite stretched across the entire table. Vacations, extras and Department store clothes were few and far between.

Instead, the family shopped at discount stores like Shoppers Fair, the younger kids wore hand me downs, the older kids received perfunctory Christmas gifts, in order for the true believers to receive their dolls and toys from Santa.

In addition to being the mother of 7 and a former 1st grade teacher, Mrs. Carlson was also the world's most foremost coupon cutter.

Mr. Carlson didn't understand why his son was so nonchalant about his intelligence, constantly telling M&M that he was sure to get a full ride to any college in the country, maybe even, Harvard, with his brains.

Both her parents had gone to college, but Cathy knew that if she wanted to go, and she did, _more than_ _anything_ ; Cathy would have to earn a scholarship or pay her own way. Cathy was smart, but not M&M smart, so she worked at the hospital snack bar hoping to squirrel away enough cash to afford the University of Tulsa in 3 years.

But anytime her father mentioned college to M&M, the young boy would sigh and start talking about politics. Cathy was apolitical, she supported Johnson for President, her parents were both Goldwater supporters, but she wasn't even sure if they voted in last year's election. In conversations M&M would spout out an alphabet soup of names: SNCC, Mario Savio, Berkley, SDS and Cathy would feel as lost as her middle aged parents.

Cathy didn't get why her father hunkered down on M&M so much. The boy was brilliant, of course he was going to college, couldn't Daddy just leave him alone?

"So, you want to give the game the old college try?" Mr. Carlson tapped his fingers on the chess board.

Cathy grinned, "love to, but I got company coming over."

"Do I need to get my shot gun out?" Mr. Carlson raised an eyebrow and gave Cathy a wink.

"Ha, very funny, it's a girl in my art class. Her name is Ella Mitchell, and she's _very_ nice." The last words and the pointed stare which accompanied her words aimed squarely at Bonnie Carlson.

Bonnie, lying on the couch like a lolling cat, stuck her tongue out at her big sister. "Bet she's a total dork."

"Bonnie…"Daddy warned, and Bonnie offered an apology so dusty Cathy could sneeze off it.

Daddy shot Bonnie a warning glance and, as he walked out the living room, Pete, clad only in underwear and socks, his hands dripping with soap suds from helping wash dishes, ran into the living room and jumped on M&M's back.

"Oh for Pete's sake, put on some darn clothes!" Cathy said with exasperation and everyone, even M&M, chuckled.

Cathy's palm hit her forehead when she realized what she said, she started to laugh, when the doorbell rang.

XXXXX

Ella Mitchell arrived, a slight scowl on her face and Cathy noticed she seemed more frazzled and frayed than normal. Her hands tightened around her school books, her purse falling and catching in the crook of her arm.

"Hi," the brown haired girl said shortly, "sorry I'm late."

Cathy tried to give a friendly smile, all while trying even harder to remember what she said or did to make Ella Mitchell so crabby. They seemed to get along in class just fine. Did she give Ella a dirty look? She winced remembering the murderous glare she gave to Bridget.

Ella took one step in the small, simply furnished but well-kept home, and **SPLAT** fell flat on her face.

Her legs sprawled behind her, her feet banging against the door, her arms rose in front of her as if she was surrendering, her petite face an inch from the floor.

Cathy, M&M and Pete Carlson, still pantless, rushed to Ella's side. Bonnie Carlson lifted her head, her bottom still glued to the couch.

The brown haired girl's face blushed slightly and her ears turned red. She seemed more embarrassed than hurt and Cathy felt guilty.

 _Poor Ella._

The rest of the family members rushed out to see what the commotion was, baby Jennifer toddled with the demon speed of a hyper two year old, completely naked except for the clean diaper she wore on her head as a crown. With a dramatic sigh, the little girl 'fell' to the floor, bumping her diapered head against Ella's forehead and giggling, "hiya, hiya, hiya!"

Sara Carlson ran out of the master bedroom, "Jenny, comeshere" she ordered, a diaper pin in her mouth.

"Oh, my, what happened?" The mother of seven asked, removing the diaper pin from her mouth and giving a sympathetic cringe to Ella's splat form.

Bonnie's identical twin Leslie, Jim and Christopher Carlson popped into the living room. Leslie, Cathy knew, was secretly glad for any temporary distraction from violin practice.

Nine Carlson, with their coal black hair and light eyes bore down at Ella with expressions ranging from curiosity, sympathy to indifference and humor.

Ella dusted herself off and with a nervous smile told Cathy's mom that she was "I'm fine. I just tripped, Mrs. Carlson." Ella moved a bit from the doorway and right there shimmering like a diamond in the rough, was the offending weapon, Bonnie Carlson's silver roller skate.

"Bonnie!" Cathy grabbed the roller skate and walked over to her sister, who was trying (and failing) not to giggle. "Stop leaving your roller skates all over the place, someone could have gotten hurt."

 _"You little psychopath,"_ Cathy added under her breath.

"I'm fine," Ella said softly, but Cathy waved her off, the girl was still shaken, she clearly was not fine.

"No, she needs to learn not to leave her junk lying around, you could have really gotten hurt."

Ella looked even more embarrassed and she drew her head in slightly.

"Cathy, it's…" the brown haired girl began, a hint of annoyance snaking through her voice.

"OKAY," Jim Carlson broke in his voice firm, "Bonnie, give me your skates, you can't care enough to put them away properly, you won't care if you lose them for two weeks."

Bonnie crossed her arms and gave Cathy a withering glare, as if she was the one who forced her to give up her beloved roller skates. She pointed her head towards Ella, "total dork," she whispered to Cathy.

With a bright smile and warm Sunbelt chuckle, Cathy pushed her younger sister, sending her flying down to the floor.

Not missing a beat, she grabbed Ella's forearm, "come on, let's go to my room."

XXXXX

"Are you okay? I don't mean the fall, but is everything okay?" What Cathy meant to ask "are _we_ okay?" Ella seemed distant and cool tonight, her eyes a million miles away, her hands bunched up tight.

Ella sighed and brushed a flying strand of hair out of her eye. "Yeah, I just have a lot going on, my mom, school…"

Cathy felt awful she didn't even know there were any issues going on with Mrs. Mitchell. Cathy thought she should ask if Mrs. Mitchell was okay, but she could tell that Ella didn't want to talk about her personal life. Cathy understood perfectly.

"…tutoring Dallas Winston," Cathy broke in with a smirk and Ella gave her a knowing smile.

"Hmm, I was trying to forget, thanks Cathy." But Ella's warm blue eyes told Cathy she was joking and Cathy felt foolish for assuming Ella was mad at her in the first place.

The girls tried to work on their art project, they really did, but couldn't stop talking about what took place in class.

"You know," Cathy treaded slowly, "Dallas kinda reminds me of a kid my brother knows, Mark Jennings, do you know him?"

Ella looked up for a second and shook her head no.

"Well, his parents killed themselves, simultaneous homicide and he's a…" Cathy couldn't call Mark a 'nice guy' even though he was decent enough to M&M and her parents. "He's an… interesting guy. He's rough, but he's always able to draw a crowd. Dallas reminds me a bit of him. He's one of those guys that would be real fascinating if he were a character in a book, but in real life…" Cathy leaned towards her partner, her elbows resting on her thighs, "he's an ass."

Cathy stood up straight and brushed her hair out of her eyes, she was good at analyzing people.

Ella sighed, and with a weariness that made her seem wiser and older than her years, softly muttered, "I think I had enough of Dallas Winston for one day." From her tone of her voice, Ella seemed to have enough of Dallas Winston for a lifetime.

The girls continued to talk, Ella asked a lot of questions about growing up in a big family and Cathy was surprised at how easy their talk flowed, once they stopped talking about Dallas.

"Are you going to homecoming?" The question popped out of Ella Mitchell's mouth and she shook her head, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

Cathy, remembering the conversation with Bridget Stevens, shook her head, "I don't know," she said honestly. "I'd like to go…" There was a lot Cathy Carlson could have said. How she wanted to date, but could never find right guy, the boys were either too stupid, too immature or she wasn't pretty enough or sociable enough. Which Cathy noted sourly meant that she wouldn't put out.

How she wished that she could bring her summer boyfriend, Mike, to the dance, but that would mean introducing him to her parents and Cathy liked the idea of having a secret boyfriend all to herself. It sounded romantic, like something out of a French novel.

But instead she blurted out, "besides my hair never looks good." The honesty of Cathy's answer caught her by surprise and she cleared her throat as if she did not recognize the words as her own.

Cathy ran her fingers through her straight, black hair, poofing her hair up in volume.

There was something in Ella's kind eyes that made Cathy want to continue, it wasn't a distant sympathy, but empathy; and Ella, seemingly without realizing it, touched her own hair, smoothing down her soft frizzy hair with her hands.

For a second two girls formed mirror images of each other, each wanting what the other girl had. Of course, Cathy wouldn't want her hair to be as unmanageable as Ella, but _some volume_ would be appreciated.

"I've had the same hairstyle since the second grade," Cathy noted dryly. _And I'll have the same damn hairstyle when I'm seventy._

"For once," she continued her voice rising with a deep mine of emotion, "I want to try something new. I want to take a risk." Her chest felt warm and her stomach bounced, was this how being honest felt? _God, it felt like the night she snuck whiskey into her dorm._

Cathy cringed, wishing she could stuff the superficial, but honest words back into her mouth. "I know it's stupid, I mean with all of the problems in the world: the war, poverty, race riots," _she sounded like M &M._

"I don't think it's stupid Cathy, I mean, I don't think there's anything wrong with your hair at least it doesn't have a personality crisis depending on the weather," Ella smirked.

"But, if you want to go to Homecoming, there's a girl in my English class, Evie Martin, she does hair, if you're interested, maybe she can try a new style on you?"

Evie Martin? The name sounded familiar, but Cathy couldn't remember where she knew it from.

She thought of the girls in her neighborhood, the girls with beehive hairdos and teased bangs; Cathy was not that type of girl, Ella didn't seem to be that type of girl either. _But who were they?_

From her chair she could see her reflection in the mirror, a girl of average height, average looks, average everything. Only her eyebrows broke the pattern of monotony etched on her face.

"But only if you want to Cathy, I'm getting my hair done, it might be fun."

Glory, Ella made it sound fun. But Cathy wasn't ready to give a definitive answer, she wasn't even sure if she'd be going to homecoming, and then she remembered Bridget's offer and a whole new can of worms emptied in her guts.

But Cathy Carlson was the master at playing it cool. She merely shrugged politely, "maybe."

She looked at Ella; the blue eyed girl gave Cathy a wide smile, her palms stretched open.

XXXXX

Evie watched as Steve zoomed out of the hospital parking lot, his cool mint breath still rolling down her throat. Goosebumps ran up her arms, but inside a warm sensation spread across her chest.

Only Steve could make her feel so cool and warm all at the same time.

Today was Evie's day to deliver flowers and get well cards to patients; and the roses, daffodils, carnations and buttercups were piled so high Evie couldn't see where she was going.

A bouquet of yellow and white daffodils in her hand, Evie knocked tepidly on the patient's door.

" _Uh, excuse me, Mr. Barton?"_

" _Bertha! Bertha is that you? I need my bath now;" the grumpy voice yelled at Evie from his bed._

" _I'm not Bertha, are you Mr. Barton? I got a delivery for you," Evie called out from the doorway the annoyance in her voice ratcheting up a notch._

" _You're so lazy Bertha, I swear I don't know what I'm gonna do with ya' honey." His voice softened and he shook his head in laughter._

" _Mr. Barton, I'm not Bertha, I'm the flower…"_

" _I always have to do everything myself, Bertha."_ His voice rose but there was a hedge of laughter in his exasperation.

Without warning, Mr. Barton ripped off the top of his hospital gown. Evie quickly shut the door. _Jesus Christ!_ Evie rolled her eyes and shuddered. But the further she moved away from the room, it wasn't Mr. Barton's exposed chest and chapped nipples that followed Evie down the hallway, but his soft laugh.

Whoever Bertha was, she meant a lot. Evie didn't think of herself as a mushy type of gal, growing up on the east side made you aware of the harsh facts of life from an early age, but she couldn't shake Mr. Barton out of her mind. She wondered what it would be like to go stark crazy with age and senility, but still remember your love?

Evie ran a hand down her throat. Maybe she was imagining it, but she could still taste Steve's mint scented breath.

She swallowed hard.

Most of the flowers were destined for new mothers in the maternity ward. Evie hadn't really thought of having children yet. Heaven knows there were plenty of girls who dropped out of school with no explanation, rumors and whispers running down the halls of Will Rogers like cheap mascara down tear streaked faces.

Then there was Sandy. Steve had plenty to say on that subject, his soft, cool voice exploding in a fiery storm of anger whenever Sandy's name came up in conversation. Evie didn't condone what Sandy did, but sometimes she thought of her friend, pregnant, alone and labeled a 'slut' by Kathy and she felt sorry for her.

Not that she would tell that to Steve. Steve would never get rough with her, but when it came to his best buddy Soda Curtis, Steve could only see Soda's side. Nobody else mattered. Evie wasn't envious, she liked Soda and she knew that Steve loved her.

Nope, Evie wouldn't tell nobody that she still thought about Sandy, hoping that she was doing okay, wondering if she was going to have a boy or girl. Not that it mattered, Evie thought glumly.

Sandy would probably come back home by next summer and her baby would be with some other family, the kind of family where the girls were good and well-behaved and real ladies. Regular Bridgets and Lucys and Cherrys all of them, Evie thought with a snort.

Even without the baby, everyone would know what Sandy did and why she really went away. As much as Evie didn't want to think of school or that book, a passage stabbed through Evie's mind:

" _But the point which drew all eyes, and, as it were, transfigured the wearer-so that both men and women who had been familiarly acquainted with Hester Prynne were now impressed as if they beheld her for the first time-was that SCARLET LETTER, so fantastically embroidered and illuminated upon her bosom. It had the effect of a spell, taking her out of the ordinary relations with humanity, and enclosing her in a sphere by herself."_

Sandy's growing stomach was her Scarlet Letter. Evie shook her head, Sandy had made her bed, and now she had to lie in it. It wasn't Evie's problem. Wasn't Evie's problem Sandy was loose.

She had one more bouquet on her list, a Mrs. Fisher.

Evie peaked into the room; a girl with a blank expression leafed through the July issue of _Cosmo_. " _The new pill that promises to make women more responsive,"_ the cover's side headline blared out.

"You got flowers for me?" The girl winced as she pulled herself into a sitting position, but she grinned. Evie walked in the room, the girl was around her age, she guessed, maybe sixteen or seventeen, no older than that. When she sat up, Evie could see that she was pregnant.

"Uh, are you Mrs. Fisher?"

With that, the girl chortled, "Mrs?" She stuck her hands out in front of her, and waved her ringless fingers in front of Evie's face, in a slow, almost elegant manner, as if she was a hand model.

"I'm sorry, I musta gotten the wrong room, I should…" Evie said quickly, but even quicker, the girl cut her off.

"I should have known, nobody is gonna bring me flowers. My parents haven't visited me once, said I've tarnished the family name, my…"she drew her rolled eyes down to her stomach, "he doesn't visit me either. We were together for a year…" the girl let out a bitter snort and Evie wanted to get out of there.

But before Evie had a chance to turn around the girl reached a hand out to her, the light of the room's shadow making her fingers seem especially slender and bony, fragile even; "my name is Lynette, what's your name?"

The hospital had rules about not touching patents, they could be diseased or something, and glory with Homecoming the last thing she needed was to be bedridden. But Lynette seemed almost starving for touch, and before she realized it, Evie reached out her own hand in a quick handshake.

"I'm Evie," Evie said in the polite, formal voice Evie used when she interviewed for the hospital job.

"Evie?" There was a spark in Lynette's eyes, "as in the first woman, the mother of us all?" Lynette was joking, but Evie was too damn tired to care.

"Nah," Evie sighed, "it's short for Evelyn and I have no clue who the hell she is."

XXXXX

Cathy Carlson was doing her best to avoid Bridget Stevens; it wasn't hard, the two of them belonged to two different social circles. She liked Bridget, but she still didn't have an answer for Bridget about finding a date. Part of Cathy thought of the idea of being set up on a date would be exciting, and her heartbeat sped up, the light pounding under her chest matching the rhythm of sneakers, boots, loafers and heels tapping against the aged hallway.

But, then she thought about some of the boys at Will Rogers and her excitement deflated like a lead balloon.

Cathy turned the combination of her locker, for a straight A student, she sure had a difficult time remembering her combo.

Rats! Messed up again. Heaving a sigh, Cathy tried again and with a strategic kick and a whispered "damn it!" the locker opened. Cathy pulled out her Algebra book, Chemistry and U.S. History she slammed the locker and there stood Bridget Stevens.

"Catherine, have you thought about Homecoming?" Bridget didn't appear to wear makeup, but even if she smothered herself in powders and eye shadow, her excitement was so transparent, it would have been impossible to cover up.

Cathy did her best to match her expression, perked eye for perked eye, grin for grin.

A million excuses ran through Cathy's mind, her parents forbade her (not true), she had to babysit (could be true), she was apprehensive and wasn't sure if she could trust Bridget (true, but it might hurt Bridget's feelings).

But Bridget's eyes were bright green lights, excited and encouraging. It was that moment that Cathy, the girl with one foot always hovering over the brake pad, slammed one Mary Jane shoe onto the accelerator.

"I think it sounds like a lot of fun," and a grin spread across Cathy's face, which the dark haired Sophomore thought, was sort of funny, because the prospect of being set up on a date still terrified her as much as it excited her.

"Oh Catherine! This is going to be so much wonderful. We can double date, you and your date, Jerry and me, and I promise you, I won't set you up with a creep." Bridget grinned and it was hard to square this open, smiling girl with the cool-headed sophisticate Cathy met at the assembly. Even her posture seemed more relaxed. Her nails though, were still perfectly done.

"I can help you pick up a dress and we can do your hair and…"

Cathy squirmed, she felt like one of Jenny's dolls the little girl liked to fuss over, brushing its hair to make it "pwetty." But Jenny would brush the hair so vigorously that clumps of synthetic doll hair would fall out, leaving the doll's scalp covered with large bald patches.

Cathy hated being thought of as helpless.

"Oh, don't worry about the hair, I'm thinking about having Evie Martin do my hair."

 _Well, I guess now Evie is going to do my hair, if I'm going to Homecoming, I might as well go all out._

Bridget's Nebula green orbs dimmed to a shade almost as grey as Cathy's as she shifted uncomfortably against the side of the locker, "oh."

Cathy's stomach turned, she knew she had said something wrong, but wasn't quite sure what.

"Do you know her?"

Taking herself out of the equation, Cathy watched Bridget's expression, her lips pursed slightly, her brows raised up and then down. Cathy knew she was good at observing people and there was a mixture of dislike, guilt and envy on the older girl's pretty face.

"Not real well, she's in my English class." Bridget's voice was tight, and Cathy could tell she wanted to say something else, but instead the wild haired girl fidgeted with her necklace.

A sinking feeling gnawed in Cathy's stomach, and she put her hand on top of her nervous stomach, hoping to quiet anxious butterflies.

Ella Mitchell seemed to like Evie, Bridget seemed weary of her. Cathy? She had no idea. All she hoped was that Evie Martin wouldn't shave her bald.

All her life Cathy had been terrified of rocking the boat, but in a short period of time she made two leaps of faith, trusting her hair to Evie and her love life to Bridget, she hoped she wouldn't regret it.

* * *

 _We still don't own the Outsiders. ;) Shoppers Fair was a real discount store in Tulsa. The issue of Cosmo that Lynette is reading is the the first issue edited by Helen Gurley Brown, author of "Sex and the Single Girl." The July issue also featured a groundbreaking article on birth control._


	6. She Did Not Suffer, She Roamed Freely

**" _She had become accustomed to being lonely. She was used to walking alone and to being considered 'different.' She did not suffer too much."_**

 **—Betty Smith, _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_**

* * *

Two-Bit shifted in the driver's seat of his car, eyes darting around as he searched for Dallas. Golly, if that lousy hoodlum needed a ride so bad, the least he could do was meet his buddy on time. Two-Bit was two seconds away from just driving out of the school parking lot and leaving that towheaded thug behind to walk. He squinted against the setting sun, his eyes making out a lean figure headed his way, a catlike stance with elfish features—Dallas.

"The hell took so long?" the older teen inquired, shooting a look at the blond.

Dallas shrugged, rolling the window down as he lit up a cigarette. "Nothin'." A sigh. "I can't believe this shit, man. I've been put on the fucking Homecoming Art and Design Committee by Mrs. Girdlé. Can you believe that?"

So it wasn't just a regular detention he was serving, then, he noted.

Two-Bit had to refrain himself from laughing, his cheeks turning a shade of red as his lips pressed into themselves, a comical look in his gray orbs. "Well, how 'bout that?"

"How about what?"

The red-headed teen shrugged as he pulled out onto Fifth. "You being put on the Homecoming Committee." He tried to keep his voice level. "Say, what'd you do to ol' Girdlé that she gave you that kinda job anyway, 'cause it sure as hell can't be because she just _adores_ your artwork."

"Fuckin' Jerry Thompson, man," came the harsh response. "Clown started with me in class, so Girdlé decided I'd make a terrific fucking candidate for this shit she's got me doin' now." His eyes were hardening with vexation. "Bitch knows she's got me, too." He went on to mutter a few choice words, teeth grinding together.

Two-Bit sighed, trying to think of a solution to the situation. He knew Jerry Thompson alright, didn't think much of him, either. His face contorted into a mischievous expression as he thought about Thompson and Bridget Stevens. Word had it that Jerry had asked her to homecoming, and the teen wouldn't ever admit it out loud, but he was strongly opposed to that little escapade taking place. The thought alone was enough to make him cringe, actually.

Considering his options, the older boy thought about homecoming. Of course, Vickie Harper had blabbed to just about anyone who would listen that it was _her_ idea to name the damn thing 'Midnight in Paris', like it was actually something to blab about. Golly, that girl. Two-Bit remembered her being the first blond he'd ever had a crush on—good thing that crush was long gone. Wouldn't it be something, though, if Two-Bit himself somehow found his way on the Committee? Vickie would have a cow for sure if that news reached her ears.

And then, as if someone switched on a light, Two-Bit found his solution. "Say now, how about I join you on this little adventure of yours, huh?" At Dallas's perplexed look, he continued on merrily, a prominent grin ever so present on his lips. "I'll join the Committee, you know, help out with all this design and all."

The blond's eyes lit up a little at the thought, an impish curve of his lips being the answer the older teen beside him needed.

XXXXX

Steve was equivalent to a crazed animal when it came to doing the hanky-panky. Evie didn't mind, though, not one bit—her boyfriend could make her forget about just anything whenever his hands were left to roam across her body to uncharted territory, uncharted to anyone other than him, that is. The girl moaned, letting her head fall back against the backseat of his car, hair spilling around her face as her glassy eyes closed, relishing in how good he was making her feel.

 _Glory._

His name fell from her lips as he drove her over the edge, both of their faces reflecting sheer pleasure, skin flush and gleaming with perspiration, eyes dark and glossy. And what better way to spend a Saturday night, Evie thought to herself. Steve had won against Will Johnson in the drag race down the Ribbon just a few hours earlier, and Evie was more than willing to show her man just how proud of him that she was, even if that meant being crammed on top of each other with barely any room to spare while getting it on in the backseat of his car.

"Here," Steve said, lighting up a cigarette and passing it to her. His focus turned straight ahead, causing a bead of sweat to trail down the side of his face. He exhaled slowly. "That sure was some race tonight, huh?"

Evie nodded, pulling her hair away from her damp neck. "Sure was."

The two were quiet for a while, that is, until Steve glanced over at her with an inquisitive look. "So, you're really up for going to homecoming, ain't ya?"

The girl's brows shot up. "'Course I am." She huffed. "C'mon, Stevie, don't tell me that you're gonna back out of taking me now. I already got my dress picked out, well one that I'm real interested in wearing, and I promised Ella Mitchell I'd help out with her hair and makeup, too, so—"

"Wait, what?" he cut in, jerking around to fully face her. "Ella Mitchell is going to homecoming? Who the hell asked her?"

Evie scowled at the shock in his voice. "I asked her if she was going, and we got to talkin', so I offered to help her out with her makeup and hair."

Steve inwardly cringed as he thought about Ella's wild hair. Lordy, but Dally was right—that untamed, unruly mess could surely use something to fix it, or at least, attempt to, and it sure as hell wouldn't be a regular hair tool, that was for sure. Then again, Evie was quite the expert when it came to working with hair and the like, and Steve didn't put it past her to take care of, or fix up, anyone who needed help cosmetically.

"Well," he mumbled, tossing his cigarette butt out the window, "good luck with that."

"And _just_ what is that supposed to mean, Steven Randle?"

The dark-haired boy flinched a little at the expression his girlfriend wore. She could turn into quite the savage when she wanted to, and she wasn't afraid to shut him up and put him in his place, either. Evie was wild like that, and truthfully, Steve enjoyed every second of it. Golly, could that girl do things to him—she was a wild cat like that at times.

"Nothing," he replied, draping an arm around the back of her neck. "Just means that you're still gonna be the prettiest gal at the dance."

A blush colored her cheeks, and he knew that he had her. "So you're taking me, then?" Her eyes were sparkling with anticipation and excitement. "Really?"

Steve wished more than anything that Evie didn't have to get so hyped up about things like school dances and other activities that didn't interest him, but then again, she was a girl who was into all that cosmetic and beauty shit, so go figure.

He sighed. "Yeah, yeah."

"Oh, Steve," she cooed, pressing her lips against his. "You make me so happy."

The older teen grinned, pulling his girlfriend onto his lap. "Yeah?" he said, moving his mouth to her neck, the pads of his fingers sliding down her backside. "Because you make me so fucking happy, too, baby."

And when she moved against him, all of his ill thoughts regarding homecoming were forgotten in the back of his mind, clouded over with what was currently happening in the heat of the moment.

XXXXX

Ella moved to the back corner of the library, placing her bag on the table as she looked around for Evie Martin. The two had agreed earlier that morning during English class to meet up during their lunch period to work on their assignment together. Pulling her copy of _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ out of her bag, Ella's eyes scanned the cover, wondering what Miss Tracy could have been thinking when she had paired her and Evie up with the other girl's copy of _The Scarlet Letter._

The two teens had only gathered a little bit of information of what their books had in common, and they weren't really all that great. Ella could only imagine the look on Miss Tracy's face if she read their notes on the main characters being females—that would surely serve them an A. The brown-haired girl chuckled to herself as she immediately thought of Evie's assigned book and the sole fact of their grade being an A.

"Hey," Evie's voice rang out, seeming to echo about the room as she approached the back table. "Sorry I'm late."

Ella feigned a smile. "No problem."

"So," Evie continued, plopping down in the chair and tossing her book in front of herself, "I only read a little bit of it, not too much. What about you?"

"Same, but that's only because I worked during the weekend and didn't have a lot of time to really get into it," Ella replied softly, casually thumbing through the pages of her book. "From what I've read, though, I actually like it."

Evie almost rolled her eyes. "Glad that you got a book you like."

"You don't like yours?"

"I still think Tracy is tryin' to say something, but—" She shook her head. "Never mind. What have you got for your character so far? We can compare notes."

And that's how the next hour went. Ella and Evie compared the first chapters of their books, jotting down notes and similarities of their characters, settings, and other things they thought would be beneficial to their English grade. The more time the girls spent together, the more they both seemed to relax, and Ella found that Evie was quite easy to get along with.

"I think I like your book better than mine," Evie stated after a while. "It's not as drastic, and it seems to teach more of a lesson."

Ella's eyes shot up from the notebook they were using for their notes. "Really?" The girl internally disagreed with that remark, but she didn't bother to voice her opinion. "Well, I suppose that maybe this story has more depth to it. Yours in straightforward and blunt."

The other girl merely shrugged. "If you say so. I still dig yours more, though."

With a smile, Ella placed her book inside of her bag, lips pursing a little. While it was easier to get along with Evie now that they were both comfortable enough around each other, Ella still felt a bit inferior to the other girl. She envied her shiny locks, wishing more than anything that her own hair would flatten out and stay straight. Instead, she was cursed with her mother's bushy hair, the kind that wouldn't do squat even if you attempted to force it to. The girl wasn't even sure if Evie could honestly help her out, but she sure seemed confident in herself.

"I was thinking about homecoming," she suddenly blurted out, cheeks heating up as the other girl's eyes shifted in her direction. "I, well, I'm not sure if I . . . if I'll be attending after all." The last part came out so quietly that Evie had to strain to hear it.

"Why not?"

The floor suddenly became interesting to stare at just then. "I don't have a date, and I guess I'd feel weird showing up without one."

Evie chuckled. "Don't be silly, Ella." She tried to make her voice sound firm, but the thought of Ella being so strung out about not having a date was actually comical. Glory, no wonder the girl didn't have a boyfriend—she was too anxious about everything. "It don't matter if you were asked or not. Look, I offered to help ya out with your hair, didn't I? Now surely, you won't be the only girl that shows up to homecoming without a date. You'll find a friend or someone to hang around with." She flashed the shorter girl a genuine grin. "I'll see ya there, too."

Ella slowly nodded, remembering her conversation with Cathy Carlson a few days ago. She felt like she could relate so much to the other girl, but even Cathy seemed more confident than her. Ella was suddenly doubting the entire idea of showing up to the homecoming dance, and she wondered why she had even let Evie humor herself with the idea of helping her out. Who was she kidding? She didn't think she was pretty girl at all. Decent? Sure. But not pretty. Dances and parties just weren't places for a girl like Ella Mitchell.

But she didn't mind. She had grown used to the idea that she would most likely live her life alone, but she wasn't going to let herself suffer, either, because she had become accustomed to the thought at an early age—the message had long ago sunk in.

XXXXX

Ella tried her best to conceal her emotions throughout the rest of the day, only it wasn't working as well as she hoped it would. Evie's words kept replaying in her mind like a broken record, and no matter how hard she attempted to remove that conversation from the forefront of her mind, she continued to picture herself standing at the homecoming dance with nobody to talk to, nobody to laugh with, nobody to . . . well, do _anything_ with.

Golly, she would probably end up sitting in a bathroom stall for the majority of the entire thing, before deciding to bail out. She wouldn't fit in, even if Evie gave her an entire makeover; she just wasn't one of those girls, plain and simple. Every time she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw a girl with waist length, bushy hair, and milk-white skin that made her faint freckles stand out. Her eyes were nearly too big for her face in general, and her nose was slightly too wide—she wasn't attractive. Maybe, just maybe, if her hair wasn't so frizzy, she wouldn't look so ridiculous, but like she had said to Cathy, that mane had a mind of its own with the weather being its biggest enemy.

The girl was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she didn't see the boy headed in her direction, a smile on his lips as he stopped in front of her, nearly causing her to plow straight into him. Her eyes went drastically wide, mouth spilling open as she looked up to apologize, breath catching in her throat as she realized who was standing there—Craig Bryant.

"Craig," she breathed, her cheeks turning stark red. "You were, I mean, I didn't, you, and I—" She shut her trap immediately, cursing herself for somehow developing speech impairment. Of course it would happen when her crush was standing right in front of her, looking as if he wanted to talk to her. "I'm sorry."

The boy was chuckling, but he was quick to brush it off. "No, no, it's fine," he said, eyes looking her over slowly. Glory, he was charming. "I didn't mean to startle you like that."

"Oh," she mumbled, and smiled a little. "It's okay." Looking around them, she suddenly felt awkward, wondering what Craig Bryant could want with her. "Did you . . . need something?"

"I was actually going to ask you if you'd be interested in accompanying me to homecoming," he stated, standing a little straighter, chin tilting up as his lips curved, caramel colored eyes boring into hers.

Ella just about dropped like a dead fly. Was Craig Bryant, _the Craig Bryant_ , asking her out? Was this even happening? For a second, the girl entertained the idea that she had somehow went crazy and ended up in the loony bin, a place where the likes of Dallas Winston probably belonged.

"Ella?"

Craig's voice brought her back to reality, and she found herself nodding. "Yes, yes, I would love to go with you, Craig." She almost asked if he was being serious, but quickly swallowed that question from the tip of her tongue.

He looked at her, brows crinkled together. "You don't seem too enthused."

"Oh, it's not that," she replied, licking her lips. "I was, well, I wasn't exactly planning to go."

"You mean nobody asked you?" He sounded shocked, surprised even, and the look in his eyes only confirmed that he was.

Ella shook her head. "Not exactly." A light laugh fell from her lips. "Well, I might have gone, I guess, but it was indefinite. Evie Martin is trying to rope me into letting her beautify me and all, but I wasn't really—" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "I'm sorry."

Craig merely looked amused. "It's fine, Ella. I like hearing you speak." He moved a little closer to her, lips stretching wide as he grinned, revealing almost perfect teeth. "So, you'll go with me, then?"

"Yes."

Her heart was thundering in her chest. Her skin felt warm and flush with excitement, her eyes broad and almost seeming to sparkle with pure joy. Craig Bryant had asked her to homecoming, and she had said yes—she was going to homecoming after all, a boy had asked her out. She couldn't contain the blush or smile that adorned her face as she made her way to her locker.

For some reason, she wanted to tell both Evie Martin and Cathy Carlson about Craig asking her out, and for a split second, her heart leaped with absolute delight at the thought of not being alone for once.

XXXXX

"I just don't want him getting any ideas with her, that's all," Two-Bit said, taking a drag of his cigarette, gray eyes stormy. "Them talkin' just ain't healthy for either party, know what I'm sayin'?"

Ponyboy nodded, although he was having a hard time deciphering his friend's words. He couldn't really understand why Two-Bit was so upset with the situation—said situation being Bridget Stevens offering to pay for a carton of cigarettes that Dallas had planned on stealing over the weekend. For some reason, Two-Bit seemed awfully put-off with the concept that those two—Bridget and Dallas—had even had contact with one another, which was baffling to say the least.

The younger teen looked at his friend. "What's the big deal?"

Two-Bit shook his head, looking more serious than Ponyboy had ever seen him. "I dunno, kid, but I just don't want Dally socializing with her." He paused for a moment, and the next words out of his mouth were so low, his voice was barely audible. "She ain't like the rest of them."

Before Ponyboy had a chance to respond, Dallas came sauntering up, a scowl ever present on his face as he nodded once to them.

"What's goin' on, Dal?" Two-Bit asked, already handing him a spare cancer stick.

The blond shrugged, lighting up. "Nothin'." He squinted at a group of Socs piling into a car on the opposite side of the lot from them, a bitter reflection in his pale orbs. "I hate this fuckin' place."

Pony flinched a little at the edge in his voice. "Everything alright?"

Dallas eyed the kid for a second, exhaling slowly. "Just peachy."

There was a silence that surrounded them for a minute or so, before Two-Bit spotted Bridget Stevens making her way out of the school, Vickie Harper, Lucy Radner, and Cherry Valance flocking her all the way to the latter's red Stingray. And it didn't take but for a second for Winston's gaze to land on the girl as well, lips pressing together as he watched them.

Two-Bit felt bad for Bridget getting involved—unintentionally as it was—with a guy like Dallas Winston. Nobody in their right mind would want anything to do with the rugged hood, and Two-Bit honestly never wanted Bee Stevens to have any interaction with the blond-headed criminal. Dallas was his buddy through and through, but Bee, well, Miss Bee was different. Glory, he didn't even know what the hell that was supposed to mean, but he knew it was true.

Dallas's voice cut through his thoughts like a sharp knife. "That broad has nerve."

The older teen raised an eyebrow. "Look, Dal, she didn't mean nothin' by what she did. She don't know the score 'round here." He shook his head, dropping his cigarette butt on the gravel. "What'd you say to her anyway?"

The towhead's expression only turned more menacing. "Told her exactly that, Mathews—the score. Let her in on how it goes around here." Their eyes met. "Pick one side and there's no turning back. Who the fuck knows, anyway? Maybe the message will sink in."

A shiver moved down Ponyboy's spine as he digested those words carefully. Cruel and hard as they were, they were true, but the thought of them were as cold as the hood himself, as bitter and harsh as the city they resided in, but as Two-Bit would say, like it or lump it. It was clear that Dallas Winston, no matter what, would never change his views, and as Bridget Stevens rode off with her friends, Ponyboy found himself wondering about Dallas's words and Two-Bit's concern.

XXXXX

"What?" Steve asked, eyes narrowing as he stared at his girlfriend. She'd been giving him _the eye_ for the past five minutes, and he was growing awfully annoyed.

Evie moved back in the booth, crossing her arms over her chest. "You asked me out earlier, and now that we're here, you hardly say one word to me, Steve." She rolled her eyes. "What do you mean, _what?_ "

The dark-haired boy sighed, aimlessly picking at the basket of fries. True, he had asked Evie to come with him to The Dingo that afternoon, said he wanted to talk to her, but now that they were there, he suddenly didn't feel like talking all that much. Evie was a great girl, really she was, and he was certain that he loved the shit out of her, but when she was anxious to know something, she always made it her business to get the information she desired, and if that meant becoming a dramatic bitch, she would do just that.

"I've been thinking," he said, gaze set on the table.

Evie raised an eyebrow. "Really? That explains your silence, then." And then came the dramatic sarcasm. "And that's it? You invite me out here tonight to let me know that you've got a functioning brain—that's terrific, Stevie, really. Congratulations!"

Her boyfriend rolled his eyes, scowling as he tossed a fry onto his plate, the unfinished burger staring back up at him as his stomach rumbled. But even though he was half starved out of his mind, he couldn't seem to find his appetite just then. No, there were too many other things on his mind, and he wasn't sure how he was going to bring them up to Evie.

"Listen," he started after a minute. "It's about us."

Now that got her attention, and he didn't miss the curious expression on her face, either. "What do you mean?" she asked, pulling herself forward, hands resting on the table. "Steve, what's wrong?"

"It's about Soda," he said quickly, keeping his voice calm.

"I thought you said—"

"I did," he cut in, rubbing his hands over his face. "Evie, I've been giving half of my paychecks to the Curtis family." At her look of bewilderment, he continued on. "They're having it real rough, ya know? I thought I could help them out, especially since they've always been good to me." He sighed. "The kid don't know what's going on, but Soda said they ain't lookin' too good financially, and well, shit—" He paused, feeling slightly humiliated, not to mention aggravated.

Evie bit her lip. "It's alright, Steve. I understand."

She wondered if he thought that she would be angry that he was helping out his buddy, but she wasn't, she would never be. She knew how close Steve and Soda were, and she would never, ever attempt to step in the way of that. Golly, she was just shocked that they'd been having it _that_ bad. Her heart sank in her chest as she recalled the events that had taken place several weeks ago—none of the boys had really gotten over losing the Cade kid, and Evie sympathized.

"Well, it ain't just that," Steve said, and his eye met hers. "How the hell am I supposed to afford a suit or anything for the homecoming dance? Or the fucking tickets?"

The girl merely stared at him. "Steve, I can—"

"Like hell," he bit out sharply, before she could even finish her sentence. He knew. "That ain't gonna happen, so you can just forget that idea right now, savvy?"

Evie rolled her eyes, casually taking a sip of her Coke. Well, there went that, she thought sourly. Steve refused to let her pay for the damn tickets just because he wanted to be a gentleman like that. Evie wasn't complaining; she loved Steve, but golly, sometimes . . .

Staring at her reflection through the side window, Evie wondered. Steve had always come through for her, and whether he liked it or not, she was going to get those tickets, come hell or high water.

"You hear about the Mitchell girl?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

The girl turned back to face him. "Ella? What about her?"

Steve was smirking, but Evie knew he had only changed the subject to avoid a fight and to forget about their dilemma. "She got asked to the dance . . . by Craig Bryant."

Evie almost choked on her drink. " _What?"_ she gasped. "Craig Bryant?" _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,_ was the first thought that crossed her mind. "Is she—"

A nod. "Yup. I heard George Clayton talking about it during English. Craig asked her out, so—" He trailed on for a while, and Evie nodded along, her thoughts occupied with Ella and Craig.

Well, that was certainly something, but now that Ella was definitely going to the homecoming dance, she entertained the idea of how she would style the girl's hair, and how she would do her makeup—oh, yes, the perfect project indeed. Evie smirked at the thought. She would definitely be speaking to Ella the next day in English class, that was for sure.

 **" _Her intellect and heart had their home, as it were, in desert places, where she roamed as freely as the wild Indian in his woods."_**  
 **—Nathaniel Hawthorne, _The Scarlet Letter_**

* * *

 **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.  
**

 **We're so glad y'all are enjoying this story!**


	7. This Best of All Possible Worlds

_"_ _There is two things everybody got to find out for theirselves. They got to find out about love and they got to find out about living."_ – Zora Neale Hurston, _Their Eyes Were Watching God_

The truth is, Bridget was a hopeless romantic. She'd seen too many movies, read too many books, heard too many stories. She believed there was a One and Only out there for her, waiting. Well, sometimes she believed that. Other days, she believed she'd turn out to be nothing but an old spinster like her Aunt Bea, who had nothing to offer to anybody and lived with three cats. And the other half of this truth was that Bridget longed for this because she'd seen how lonely her father was at times, and she refused to let that same loneliness encompass her.

She absolutely refused.

Logically, she knew that she was young and that in all likelihood, Jerry Thompson wasn't the only boy for her. The irrational part of her, however, anxiously believed that he _was_ , and wanted to run off with him immediately just to make sure she had him secured.

That was stupid, though.

That was _really_ stupid.

For now, she should just enjoy the time she was spending with him. Vickie had told Bridget she'd had her suspicions that Jerry was going to ask her to homecoming, as – as nearly everyone in school had probably noticed by now – the two had been becoming very close. And so he had. Jerry walked her to nearly all her classes now, even to American History, where Two-Bit was waiting to make cracks about the whole thing every day. Jerry and Two-Bit had similar builds, Bridget noticed, but she wondered how Two-Bit maintained his without athletics like Jerry, who would be going straight into basketball season after football was over. Maybe –

"Where'd you go?"

Bridget looked up to see Jerry smiling funnily at her, setting their food on the table. Bridget blushed, but smiled back.

"Nowhere interesting," she shrugged, and bit the end off a fry. And Rusty's really _was_ nowhere interesting. Just a diner. Where kids like Bridget and Jerry and their friends hung out. Bridget had been told to stay far, far away from a place called the Dingo, that the diner on the east side was a greaser hangout. But shouldn't they be moving past that? Johnny Cade and Bob had _died_ ….couldn't they all most _past_ that? "So, um. I thought I'd let you know that I'm thinking of either wearing a red or pink dress to the dance, if you want to match your tie."

Jerry nodded, but then his eyes squinted like he was thinking. "Did you already buy 'em, or somethin'?" He asked. Bridget shook her head.

"No, I just placed them on hold. Why?"

"No reason, really," he shrugged, "I was just thinkin' you looked real good in blue, too, ya know." Jerry's expression turned a bit sheepish and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Well. That's just what _I_ think, anyways. You look good in any color, really."

Bridget felt herself blush a bit. "Well, maybe I could take another look."

Bridget was endeared to notice that Jerry had turned a bit pink, too. "Hey, you'll look great in _whatever_ you wear. I don't, I didn't mean – "

"Jerry?"

"Yeah?"

"You're _fine_. I'll let you know what I decide on," she said, smiling a little. God, a boy was tongue-tied over her. Really!

"Bridget!"

Shocked from her puppy-love daze, Bridget snapped her head up to see Vickie making her way over to their table. Bridget looked at Jerry, who just smirked and rolled his eyes. "Sorry," Bridget mumbled.

"It's cool," Jerry shrugged. "Vickie…demands attention," he sighed. "And it seems like she wants yours."

Vickie had sauntered over to the pair and stood with her back turned to Jerry, who glared at her backside. Vickie was Bridget's friend (at least, she _thought_ she was), but she could see how some people might find her annoying. "Hi, Vickie."

"Bridget, I need to borrow you for a moment." And without waiting for response, Vickie grabbed her by the hand and dragged her to the ladies room. A bewildered Bridget raised an eyebrow at Vickie as she leaned against the (maybe) clean counter.

"What's up?"

"Homecoming is coming up."

Bridget had to try very, very hard not to roll her eyes. "Right."

"Which means nominations are going on. And that means we have work to do."

"What do you mean?"

Vickie sighed. "Bridget. Only juniors and seniors can win queen and king. Anyone can get on the court, but only upperclassmen can _win_. And I want to win."

"You do?"

"Duh! There are three opportunities throughout the year. There's homecoming queen, snow queen, and prom queen. I'd like to get this one right off the bat. Do you know George Clayton?"

"Not really…"

"Well, we're thinking he'll be king. Haven't you seen him? He's awfully cute. You'd like him."

Bridget was confused. "I like Jerry…and who's 'we'?"

"I know you like Jerry. And 'we' is everybody!"

Oh. _Well_ , Bridget thought, _she_ _should have just SAID that, then_. "Oh." Bridget still managed to feel incredibly stupid, however. Vickie seemed to have a knack for doing that. "Well, what do you need help with?"

Now that the attention was back on her and her agenda, Vickie smiled. "I was thinkin' I need a campaign manager, and I'd like it to be you."

Bridget's eyebrows shot up. "Me? You want _me_ to be your campaign manager?" Bridget thought she'd never heard anything so ridiculous in her life. "I mean, you're not running for president, Vickie, it's just homecoming – "

"It's not ' _just homecoming'_ ," Vickie said snottily, and Bridget was starting to get the feeling that her friend seriously lacked perspective. "Anyways, I want you to help me."

"Why me?"

"Because Cherry's probably wanting to get nominated, too, and Marcia will help her. And you're organized," she added as an afterthought. "Besides, everyone wants to get a chance to talk to the new girl."

Bridget actually rolled her eyes that time, but Vickie didn't seem to notice, or just didn't care. "What about our other friends? What if they get nominated?" _What if I get nominated?_ She wanted to ask, but she got the feeling Vickie would probably laugh in her face.

"Oh, I doubt they want to." Bridget wanted to tell Vickie that even though she was new, she knew that anybody could nominate whoever they wanted, whether they ran a campaign or not. "So you'll help me. And you might help George, too. We might run a joint campaign. Oh, _please_ , Bridget. You'll help me out, won't you? I'd really like to win this, and I know you can help me. Please?"

Vickie could play her so easily. She knew exactly which buttons to push. So Bridget wasn't surprised when she said yes to her. And she even felt like Vickie actually appreciated it when her friend squealed and hugged her. But Bridget also couldn't help but feel that she'd gotten herself into a bad deal, and that she was just being used.

XXXXX

It was an uncharacteristically warm fall day. Ella and Evie fell into step as they walked beside each other up to Evie's house to work on their project. Ella sure was getting out a lot more these days, she mused, between all these projects and homecoming fast approaching. Evie pushed open the front door and Ella made sure to be careful when she stepped inside, not wanting to risk being stared at by any prying family members. Again.

"Beth, you home?" Evie called into the house.

"Hey!" Her sister called back, then came into the front room. She stopped cold when she saw Ella. "Who's this?"

Evie looked between Beth and Ella. "Beth, this is Ella Mitchell. She came over to work on a project. Ella, this is my sister, Beth."

"Hi," Ella said.

"Hey," Beth said back. She squinted her eyes and studied Ella a moment, then turned her head and looked at her big sister and raised an eyebrow. Evie just shook her head. Ella was confused by the silent communication, but then Beth flounced back into the kitchen. Evie shook her head.

"Let's go to my room."

Well, technically, it was Evie _and_ Beth's room, but that's just mincing words. Evie did feel a bit as if she was letting Ella into some sort of sacred space that only she and her sister and their true friends had ever really seen. It was a meeting place for the Girlfriend Coalition. It was a mess. It was not only sacred, but shared. And now, Evie had brought in Ella, who she barely knew.

"Sit where ya want, make yourself comfortable," Evie said, smiling in an attempt to get rid of her own awkward feeling. Ella sat down at the desk Evie and Beth shared, so Evie sat on her bed. She opened up their notes from the other day and sighed. Time to pick up from where they left off, she supposed.

"Hey, Evie?"

Evie looked up from her notes. Ella had her notes and book out on the desk, but she really didn't seem too concerned with them. "Yeah?"

"Um. So, turns out I am going to the dance after all."

Evie instantly perked up and smiled in delight. "Really? Oh, I'm glad to hear that! So we're back on for doing your hair?"

"I guess – "

"Who's the guy?"

Ella blushed. "Um. His name's Craig Bryant."

"Ooh! Cute! Well, actually, can't say I know him. But I bet he's cute." Evie paused. " _Is_ he cute?"

Ella couldn't even look Evie in the eye when she mumbled, "Yes."

"That's so exciting! Have you thought about what you want to do with your hair? Or, well, have you picked out a dress yet? Because we want the style to go with the dress – "

"That's a thing?"

Evie stared at her. "Of course it's a thing."

Silence. "Oh. Well, truthfully, I haven't really put a whole lot of thought into it because I don't know where to _start_."

Evie hopped off her bed. "Well, that's what you've got me for. Alright, lemme see here." Evie stood before her partner, and began studying.

The thing was, Ella was a clean slate. Yes, her hair was a bit of a mess. But the natural color was nice, so that was a perk. Her eyes may have been a _bit_ big, but Evie thought it actually somewhat suited her demeanor. Her actual complexion was good, if a bit freckly. And, Evie noticed, "You've got great nails."

"What?" Ella sounded stupefied.

"You've got good nails," she repeated. "Really. They're a good shape, and not all short and wide or too thin."

"Oh," she said. "Well. Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem," Evie said distractedly. "Alright. But mostly, we need to talk about this hair. Good color, we won't have to dye it." Ella's eyes bugged out a bit, but Evie kept rolling. "But it may be a bit long. So we'll cut a bit off the length…"

"Wait. I thought you were going to _do_ my hair! Not cut it!"

Evie raised her eyebrows. "What? I'm not cutting off _that_ much. Just so it looks cleaned up. C'mon, don't act like you've never got yer hair cut before."

Ella sighed. "Well, as long as you don't cut off too much…"

"I won't," Evie said hastily. "So, after we get it all healthy again, then we'll actually _do_ your hair. We can do it however you want. Maybe flip through Cosmo of Seventeen and bring me some pictures."

Ella nodded, which made Evie looked pleased. But as they turned back to working on their project, Ella got the feeling that she was getting into more than she'd bargained for.

XXXXX

"…' _There is a concatenation of all events in the best of possible worlds; for, in short, had you not been kicked out of a fine castle for the love of Miss Cunegund; had you not been put into the Inquisition; had  
you not traveled over America on foot; had you not run the Baron through the body; and had you not lost all your sheep, which you brought from the good country of El Dorado, you would not have been  
here to eat preserved citrons and pistachio nuts.' 'Excellently observed,' answered Candide; 'but let us cultivate our garden.'"_

Bridget shut _Candide_ gently and let it rest in her lap. The girl – who knew she was naïve and ignorant of many, many things – could plainly see the correlation. Both books were journeys, spectacular in their own ways. And my god, _Candide_ was barely over a hundred pages! It was ridiculous enough to be a children's book, almost. That sonuvabitch Voltaire couldn't have made his message plainer, and Lucy had still missed it. Lucy hadn't even _finished it_ , either! Was Bridget going to have to do this whole project herself? Goodness gracious. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. (Insert desired exclamation.)

Bridget closed her eyes and leaned back on her bed against the pillows. Eating preserved fruits and pistachio nuts on her own little farm with everyone she had in her little world right there with her sounded nice right about then. She imagined her father would be there, of course. Maybe some of her new friends, if Bridget was right and they really _did_ like her. And for some reason, Two-Bit. Probably just to annoy her, but this was her fantasy world! Why was _he_ there?

XXXXX

"…I'm tellin' ya, Miz Bee! It's not to be missed!"

"Two-Bit," Bridget sighed. This was the one time a day Jerry didn't walk her to her next class, but Two-Bit always seemed to end up doing so. "A rodeo sounds like the last place on Earth I'd want to spend my time."

"Wrong. You're just wrong," Two-Bit shook his head. "Tisk, tisk, Stevens."

The two of them together was an unusual sight, and Bridget was always on the lookout for anyone who might notice her. Usually, people let them go with just a few odd glances. Oh, but not today. Oh, no. Today it seemed the entire school walked up to talk to her at her locker while Two-Bit Mathews stood by, chattering away like he always did. He seemed to get off on bothering her.

"Hi, Bridget."

Oh, what she wouldn't give for people not to sneak up on her. First Vickie, and now…Bridget whipped around. Catherine!

"Oh! Hi, Catherine. How are you?"

Catherine gave her a nice smile. "Fine. Um. I was wondering if I could talk to you."

"Oh! Sure – "

Behind her, Two-Bit cleared his throat. Bridget turned around and scowled at him. He just raised an eyebrow. "Mind introducing me to your friend here?"

If looks could kill, Two-Bit Mathews would've been a dead man. Bridget turned back around and gave Catherine a tight smile. "Two-Bit, this is Catherine Carlson," she introduced. "Catherine, this is Two-Bit Mathews."

Bridget heard Catherine mumble _"Two-Bit Mathews?"_ under her breath, but she turned back around to Two-Bit and said, "Alright. You're introduced. Now, she and I have something to talk about, so maybe it's time for you to go?"

He just ignored her, sidestepping Bridget and turning his attention to Catherine. "Don't mind her, she's a real bore, ain't she? Anyways, Catherine Carlson? You got a brother called M&M?"

It was as if Bridget had been entirely forgotten when Catherine's brother was brought up, and Bridget felt a bit bad that she hadn't known that about her. And how did he know that? Two-Bit had just met her and he already seemed to know more about Catherine than she did! At least, that's what it felt like. Not that she knew Catherine all that well, yet.

"Yeah! I mean, his name's really Edwin, but that's what everyone calls him."

"Ah. I'm in the same boat, ya see. Pretty sure my mother and sister are the only ones who call me by my _real_ name anymore."

"What is your real name?"

"Ah, now that would be telling, wouldn't it?" He grinned, and Cathy laughed. Bridget just stood behind them, fuming a bit. "Well, I oughta get going. It was _wonderful_ meeting you, Catherine!"

He waltzed off, and Cathy turned to Bridget. "Who was that?"

Bridget rolled her eyes. " _That_ was Two-Bit. He's that boy I told you about, the friend of Dallas Winston's."

Cathy's nose scrunched up. "Oh." She sounded a bit let down now. "Well. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about homecoming."

Now _this_ was something Bridget would much rather talk about. "Right! Have you found a date, or – "

"Bridget!"

 _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph_. Bridget just wanted to finish one conversation! For the second time that week, Bridget turned to see Vickie walked towards her with a purpose in her step, this time with a tall, good-looking boy walking along with her. Catherine shrunk back a bit. Vickie cut quite the dramatic figure, and so did her friend.

"Hi, Vickie," Bridget greeted, her voice already small. She felt embarrassed to act like this in front of Catherine, but this boy was…intense.

"Who's this?" Vickie asked, like it was any of her business. Bridget cut her eyes to Catherine.

"Um. Oh, Vickie, this is Catherine Carlson. She just transferred here from Graves Academy. Catherine, this is my friend, Vickie Harper and…"

"George Clayton," Vickie said, tipping her head towards the boy next to her. So _this_ was George. Bridget supposed he was cute, but he seemed more Vickie or Cherry's type. "It's nice to meet you, Catherine."

"Nice to meet you, too."

Vickie turned back to Bridget. "Bridget, George and I wanted to talk to you about homecoming."

"Oh! That's funny. That's what Catherine and I were just talking about. What was it you were saying, Catherine?"

Catherine really looked caught in the middle here, and Bridget felt bad for making her feel awkward, but what else was she supposed to do with these two bearing down on her like this? Catherine shifted on her feet and offered a tight smile. "Right. Well, I was just about to tell Bridget that I know a girl that can do hair real well – I think I mentioned that to you the other day, didn't I? – and I was going to ask if maybe she'd like for her to do hers, too. For homecoming," Catherine added. Vickie raised an eyebrow.

"Really? And she's really good?" Catherine nodded, though she didn't really know. "Who is it?"

"Um, Evie Martin. My friend Ella Mitchell told me about it."

Uh-oh. Bridget might have been the only one who noticed the almost imperceptible change in Vickie's expression upon hearing Evie's name. "I didn't know that she was such a…beautician. Interesting."

"Isn't she dating Steve Randle?" George asked, finally saying something. Both Bridget and Vickie nodded. "He's friends with Ponyboy Curtis, ain't he?"

"I think so. And that Two-Bit Mathews," Vickie drawled, smirking at Bridget, a gesture the girl didn't quite understand.

"That guy's a dumbass," George spat.

Bridget felt her face heat up, and there was a small part of her that wanted to defend Two-Bit. Yeah, he _was_ a dumbass. But…but…but she didn't like hearing anyone _else_ saying that! "I guess he is," she shrugged.

"Right," Vickie said. "Well, ya know what, I'll just talk to you later, Bridget. The bell's about to ring. Nice meeting you, Catherine!" She chirped, and then she and George were off. Bridget turned back to Catherine.

"What was…that?" Catherine asked. Bridget could only sigh.

"My friends," she grumbled.

" _Oh._ " Bridget winced. "I really think you should think about letting Evie do your hair," Catherine moved on cheerfully. "I bet you wouldn't even have to pay too much!"

Bridget wanted to tell her that payment wasn't the problem with that plan, but the bell rang.

XXXXX

"Hi, Evelyn."

At first, Evie didn't recognize the voice. And who the hell called her _Evelyn?_ Evie stopped on the school steps, a breeze blowing up her skirt, and turned around. She was more than surprised to see Vickie Harper standing there, with her sunshiny-blonde hair perfectly done in her beehive hairdo, posturing herself like the queen bee she was. Evie barely knew Vickie. They'd been in school together their entire lives, but they only really knew each other's names, and that all-important matter of which side of town they were from. Evie knew some of those west side girls, didn't exactly like them, but Vickie had alluded her. She knew just enough about her to know she hated her. And now she was standing before her, with a pleasant smile on her face. Evie had no idea what Vickie truly thought of her, but she knew it couldn't be anything good. Not a chance. Not when she was friends with _Bridget Stevens._

"Vickie, hi," Evie greeted warily. "Do you need somethin'?"

Vickie shrugged. Her heels clicked as she came down the steps. "Walk with me?"

This was suspicious, but Evie agreed, and the two started walking out towards Vickie's car. It was odd to see her alone without her flock of friends. Surely that prude Bridget would be tagging along, right? Or that Cherry girl that had gotten all mixed up in that mess when Johnny died.

"Seriously, Harper, do you need something? 'Cuz I've got places to be…"

"So do I," Vickie snapped, stopping abruptly. She studied Evie's face for a moment. "Are you friends with Catherine Carlson?"

Evie narrowed her eyebrows. Catherine Carlson? She knew a Kathy, and there was a Cathy at work… "No, I don't. Why do you care?"

"You don't?"

"No…why, should I?"

"You ought to, she says you're doing her hair for homecoming."

What? Who was this Catherine Carlson, and where did she get off telling people that Evie was doing her hair? "Well, I've never heard of her. Where did you hear this, anyways?"

Vickie shifted on her feet, adjusting her books in her arms. Perhaps stalling. "Oh, well George Clayton and I were talking to our friend Bridget Stevens – you know _her_ , don't you? – and Catherine mentioned something about it to her. Said she should consider having you do _her_ hair, too."

Oh, _hell_ no! It was one thing to do a stranger's hair on top of the challenge that was Ella's. It was an entirely different one to do Bridget Stevens' hair, and not just because of how long and wild it was. No, Evie didn't want to spend a second longer with that bitch than she had to. One period a day was enough as it was.

"I'm not doin' her hair," Evie said, disgusted. Vickie looked pleased.

"Good. Look, I know the people you hang around with, who you're dating. You best leave Bridget alone. And Catherine mentioned Ella Mitchell – "

"Yeah, I _am_ doing _her_ hair," Evie said, getting a step closer to Vickie and standing up defiantly straight. Vickie pursed her lips.

"Right. Well. She's going to the dance with one of George's friends, Craig Bryant. Did you know that?"

"I did."

Vickie straightened as well. She really was intimidating. "I don't like that boy you hang around with, Evelyn. Or his friends. And neither do _my_ friends. So I'd be careful if I were you, getting mixed up with them."

Evie's face contorted. "Is that a threat?"

"No," Vickie said innocently. "I'm just saying you might want to be careful."

"Really? You're looking out for me, huh?"

"No," she said again. "I was just curious about the whole situation. That's all." She looked Evie hard in the eye one more time, then grinned. "See you tomorrow, Evelyn."

Vickie drove off, leaving Evie standing stupid in the parking lot, dumbfounded. And feeling vaguely threatened. And very, very confused. First things first, though: she needed to find out who the hell Catherine Carlson was.

XXXXX

 **AN: Thank you guys for all your support! It means the world to us :)**


	8. Like an Episode of The Twilight Zone

_**"All merely graceful attributes are usually the most evanescent." -Nathaniel Hawthorne,**_ _**The Scarlet Letter**_

* * *

Cathy was happy for her new friend Ella Mitchell, she really was. Before art class started, as Mrs. Girdlé wiped down the windowsill, the model hands having mysteriously vanished, Ella leaned over to Cathy. Her excitement was palpable, and her blue eyes sparked with happiness, stirred with a not small serving of disbelief.

"I'm going to Homecoming," Ella whispered almost as question than a statement.

Well, of course Ella was going to Homecoming, they already talked about having Ella's friend Evie do their hair. _Wait…_

"You got asked to Homecoming?" Cathy asked warmly. At least she hoped she sound warm and not incredulous. Or jealous.

"Mmm, by Craig Bryant." Although Ella kept her voice low as the buzzing hum of the light fixture that hung above them, her pale face glowed with joy. Cathy didn't know Ella real well, but she had never seen the girl this happy before, certainly not over a guy. Although granted, the only guy they ever talked about was Dallas Winston and well, he wasn't exactly a pocket full of sunshine.

But now looking at Ella, Cathy noticed not only how happy the girl seemed, but beautiful. Her eyes were an unusual, almost almond shaped. Cathy didn't really notice them before, but they had an almost exotic cast, like Myrna Loy's. That was it, Ella Mitchell, with her freckled soaked pale skin and bushy brown hair had the eyes of a Hollywood starlet.

Excitedly, Cathy finally began to envision how she would draw Ella for their class project, she would focus on her eyes, a sensual curve of a blue lake cutting through the dusty, dry, barren landscape.

How did Cathy never notice that before? Maybe it was because Ella, a sweet girl, never really smiled the way she did right now, with her eyes.

She wondered if Ella knew just how pretty she was under all that triple canopy jungle of brown hair?

"So, have you found a date yet?"

Her heart stopped. Itching limp hair, Cathy shrugged.

No, Cathy did not have a date yet. Bridget had promised to find her a date, but so far, nothing. Cathy knew she shouldn't be picky, and heavens, it was just a stupid high school dance not a forced betrothment. Cathy couldn't figure out why _this_ dance made her feel so nervous, then looking into Ella's eyes she found her answer.

In that moment, Ella's eyes contained an entire world. Ella's world. There was no barrier between her outer and inner world. Cathy wanted to strip naked and dive in head first, to tell Ella that she was scared.

Not so much of having a bad date, or even not having a date, but of putting herself out there. To ask Bridget for a favor, to admit that even with go-getter attitude she didn't have the answers. That even with something a simple as a date, she needed help. That maybe there was something wrong. With _her_.

But Cathy didn't like swimming on an empty stomach. Looking down at the table, Cathy pressed her lips into the closest approximation of a smile she could manage.

"Nope, still looking." _Smile._ Cathy had a nice smile, when she wanted to, she could light the stars on fire with her grin. It just wasn't always easy to start that first spark.

"Oh," Ella looked genuinely sorry for a second, but then she perked up, "I still really hope you come Cathy, even if you don't have a date, it's going to be a lot of fun, you're always welcome to join Craig and me."

Covering her mouth, Cathy 'coughed' to hide the snort that emitted from her mouth. Yeah right, that's just what Ella wants, a third wheel on her date with this Craig Bryant. Cathy knew that Ella was only being polite, extending an invitation whose RSVP was never meant to be returned.

Cathy shook her head, "no I don't want to get in the way." There was an awkward pause. Ella opened her mouth, as if she felt obligated to tell Cathy that she wasn't going to be a burden. She seemed almost relieved when Cathy reached for her hand, "I'm serious Ella, you're going to have a wonderful time with Craig, there are probably going to be a lot of kids there without dates, it will be fine. _I'll_ be fine."

Ella grinned. She had a beautiful smile as well, it was almost as if something had been unlocked within her. Confidence? People assumed Cathy was confident, she had the posture of someone who knew what they were doing, she was quiet, but steady, like a rudder. But inside, Cathy never felt as confident as the image she projected.

Not Ella, not today, it was almost like she was a different person, or maybe this girl was always there, finally swimming to the surface.

Cathy smiled at Ella, a genuine one, "do you want to come to my house after school? I promise you, my parents made Bonnie put away her skates," Cathy laughed.

Ella looked genuinely conflicted, "I really wish I could, but I have to tutor Dallas and then I'm working, but maybe after work? Or tomorrow?"

"You take your tutoring job seriously, don't you?" Cathy was impressed with all of the extra effort Ella was going through to help Dallas Winston. Dally was lucky, Cathy thought, possibly the first time in history Dally and luck was ever used in the same sentence.

Ella touched her math book, slowly drawing her fingers across the binding, her eyes lost in thought.

"He's trying."

Cathy could finally see why Ella was chosen to be Dally's tutor, despite blonde's rude behavior (at best) and downright hostility, Ella wouldn't give up on him. Ella, Cathy decided, was a fighter.

Cathy had one more question to ask her friend, "So, tell me all about this Craig, is he hot?" Cathy opened her mouth, as if she wanted to bite into Ella's experience and digest it as her own.

Ella sighed happily, "like you wouldn't believe."

XXXXX

Walking down the halls of Will Rogers, the sun forming prisms of shadows and light through the Art Deco windows, Cathy thought about Evie Martin. The name sounded vaguely familiar, like an echo of a memory that you aren't sure belongs to you or to someone else.

There was something about Evie that made Bridget uncomfortable, but Ella seemed to like her. Cathy wasn't the type of girl who made up her mind based on other people's views, she needed to figure out the answer for herself.

Cathy watched with rapt attention as a dark haired girl with a too tight blouse and a guy with swirls of thick, greasy hair kissed by the water fountain. It was the same couple she saw earlier in the school year, the couple in the lobby.

She couldn't see the girl's face, but she watched as his fingers ran up her back.

Cathy's own heartbeat sped up and all those life lessons her mother gave her about not staring at others in public flew out the gorgeous Art Deco window. For the life of her she couldn't stop looking.

And wanting.

XXXXX

Evie Martin still felt the warm push of phantom fingers from last night. He was good, _real good_. Steve was Evie's first everything and she didn't have much to compare him to, but there wasn't nobody in the world who could make Evie feel both like a wild cat and a lolling kitten at the same time.

She closed her eyes for a brief second, feeling the linger throbs of Steve's fingers pushing deeper and deeper. When she opened her eyes she saw Vickie and Bridget, her two favorite people in the entire world, put up a poster for Homecoming.

" _Midnight in Paris?"_ Evie rolled her eyes, because if there was one place that reminded her of Paris it was Tulsa, Oklahoma.

If Evie was on the Homecoming Committee, not that you could pay her enough money to spend time with those bitches, she would never agree to something so corny. Nope, Evie would decorate the gym like an old garage, using hubcaps for chandeliers, exposed metal beams and engines. Even Steve would want to go, and he wouldn't even care if Evie bought their tickets.

XXXXX

Vickie Harper may have fancied herself a blonde Jackie Kennedy, minus the blood stained ensemble, but it was LBJ who provided the real inspiration to Vickie Harper. Like the Texan, she was the master greasing palms, cajoling, charming, and if it came to it, threatening, to get what she wanted. Unlike LBJ she drew the line at forcing her underlings to follow her into the bathroom for meetings while she sat on the porcelain throne. _For now._

She and Bridget had spent part of their lunch period putting up posters for Homecoming, and that didn't include all of the politicking Vickie was doing behind the scenes to win Homecoming Queen.

Some would say Vickie was going overboard, that there was no need to make homemade posters and plaster them on the lockers of her friends. 'Free advertisement' she told Bridget brightly when the New Yorker wondered why in the world a glamour shot of Vickie greeted her when she arrived at her locker one morning.

"I didn't think you'd mind," Vickie said cheerfully, "I put one on Cherry's locker too, oh and that little friend of yours, the one who went to private school."

Bridget swallowed the urge to roll her eyes and shrugged her shoulders, "you're putting a lot of effort into this."

Vickie was smart, she could pick up a slight edge of sarcasm that burned through Bridget's otherwise polite tone, but Vickie didn't have time to get mad, she had a campaign to win. _Then_ there would be time for score settling.

"Oh," she handed Bridget a bunch of posters, "put these up around the girls' locker room," when Bridget looked at the blonde with an incredulous stare, Vickie merely smiled, "and I already got permission."

Bridget looked like she wanted to say something, but before her own mouth could open, Vickie opened hers, "you know, I really appreciate it. You're the best campaign manager."

Bridget didn't say anything but she gave Vickie a slight smile; after all, Vickie was her friend.

"Simply _the_ best!" Vickie Harper flounced her way down the hall, leaving Bridget and the homemade posters behind.

XXXXX

Ponyboy Curtis had no idea why there was a picture of a Socy girl on his locker. She was a good looker, but weren't they all? Pony didn't think he'd ever seen a bad looking Soc. It must be a requirement, like the English Leather their boys wore.

An invisible hand pushed on Pony's chest, his throat burned and his eyes stung. Once again he was back on the street, lying on the ground, the smell of English Leather suffocating him.

" _Need a haircut greaser?"_

Feeling a clammy shiver, Pony blinked his eyes and like that the English Leather and the boys wearing it disappeared back into memory again, ready to pounce out like a panther without warning.

He looked around, none of the other lockers had a "Vote for Vickie!" poster written in neat calligraphy. Vote for Vickie for what?

Two-Bit, Pony thought with a chuckle. Not that he thought the nice handwriting belonged to Two-Bit, but he had to have something to do with the poster on his locker. The freshman couldn't believe that somehow Two-Bit AND Dally both landed on the Homecoming Committee, "do y'all know what you got yourselves into?" Pony asked the stocky teenager.

Two-Bit only lifted his eyebrow, "shoot kid, the question should be do they know what _they_ got themselves into? Besides, they always talk about school spirit at those pep rallies, feel like I should pay ol' Will Rogers back for all the good times I've had over the many, many, many, years here."

That was another thing about Two-Bit, Greasers usually didn't attend pep rallies, or get into all that corny school spirit jazz; hell, greasers hated spending any more time at school than they absolutely had to.

Not Two-Bit. The 18 year old junior was a rare bird. Two-Bit would attend the rallies, worst of all, he would make Johnny & Pony attend with him. Of course Two-Bit's version of 'school spirit' was different from most peoples. While almost everyone sang "Ride on Ye Ropers" Two-Bit loudly added his own creative twists to the lyrics which included an ode to another rope like contraption the girls of Will Rogers could ride.

 _Glory_ , did Pony's ears turn all sorts of red. He reckoned Johnny's would have as well, but the boy's deep, tanned skin did a far better job of masking his emotions than Pony's milky white skin which revealed everything the younger boy was thinking, like a transparent window.

But when Two-Bit stood up, placed his hand over his heart and gave a beaming grin and the thumbs up to Principal Vernon, all while loudly mouthing his dirty lyrics, Pony just about wanted to die. Darry was gonna have to plan another funeral.

Turns out a few weeks later Darry did have to plan another funeral. Johnny's.

Looking at the photo Pony groaned silently, remembering the last 'prank' Two-Bit played, the one that ended with a busted a school window and ol' Dal being hauled down, cocky and loyal as ever, to the police station.

Pony didn't have time to worry about what his buddies were up to, he had enough worries of his own. Soda was acting strange, not just normal person strange, which was par for the course for him, but odd for Soda. He and Darry were still redefining their relationship with each other. He and his buddies were still trying to find their footing after the heart of their gang died. Pony couldn't afford the luxury of trying to figure out what Dal and Two-Bit were up to. He only could pray that the school would still be standing by the end.

Shaking his head, Ponyboy ripped the photo off his locker.

XXXXX

"Catherine!" Cathy looked up, Bridget was the only person who called her Catherine, but the honeysuckle voice did not belong to the New Yorker. Can we talk?" It was a statement not a question, and the black haired sophomore shrugged and looked at her watch, "um, sure."

Cathy looked Vickie Harper in the eyes; she had blue eyes that oozed confidence. No, ooze was the wrong word, she _gleamed_ confidence. If Ella's eyes were a welcoming pool in the desert, Vickie's eyes were a tempestuous flood, drowning everything in sight.

"Catherine! That's such a cute outfit you have on, I had a similar outfit when I was in junior high. It's SO perfect."

Cathy looked down at her yellow jumper and matching yellow knee socks. She didn't think the outfit was too young for high school. She had seen an identical adult version in the Sears catalogue.

She tried to match Vickie's condescending smirk-turned-grin. But even as her coldest, Cathy Carlson had nothing on the blizzard in plaid.

"I hope you didn't mind, I put one of my campaign posters on your locker," Vickie said with a smug expression.

Campaign? What the heck was she talking about?

Cathy must have looked has confused as she felt, because Vickie, her voice heating up with impatience, sighed, "for Homecoming." When the dark haired girl still looked confused, Vickie continued, "it's a big deal around here."

"I bet Homecoming was a big deal at Graves Academy," Vickie's smile seemed almost genuine and Cathy's body relaxed, her shoulders melting back, a small smile forming on her lips.

"Well, there were a lot of Sadie Hawkins dances; of course, we were missing one really important factor-the boys," Cathy said dryly.

Vickie's lips puckered, not unlike that of a fish gasping for its last breath. "you went to an _all-girls_ school?"

Cathy shrugged a nod, "yeah, I liked it." She really did. She loved everything about Graves; the teachers, the classes, the friends she made. It was peculiar, most of the girls who went to Graves were wealthy, but with few exceptions, Cathy got along famously with everyone. Maybe the fact that there were no boys around and everyone wore the same uniforms like teenage Madelines, made the difference. No matter where they came from, at Graves they were all the same.

Here? Even when Ella told Cathy her good news of being asked to Homecoming what was Cathy's first reaction? Was it happiness? Unbridled joy? No, it was the nauseous tingling of envy. Cathy hated that. Cathy wasn't an envious person, she didn't compare herself to others. Cathy had a lot to be grateful for, but in that brief second, what she wanted more than anything was a Craig Bryant of her own.

Vickie only shook her head and crinkled her nose, "my God, I think I would die. Wait, did your parents _force_ you to go? Did you _have_ to leave town?" There was a dangerous glint of ice in her eyes and Cathy felt her cheeks burn.

"No, I wanted to go," Cathy external voice was stronger than her internal voice. No wonder people always thought Cathy was confident. Besides, how the heck was this Vickie's business anyways?

"Oh, well. Anyways Catherine, I wanted to talk to you about Homecoming."

 _Of course._

"You know dear, I was talking to Evie…" Vickie sounded like she swallowed a rotten fish, "and I'm not sure if she's really the best person to do your hair," she leaned over conspiratorially.

Part of Cathy felt amused that Vickie even cared about her hair. She didn't expect everyone to be like M&M, worrying about the plight of coal miners in Kentucky, but could hardly believe that her hair was that important to Vickie Harper. Or anything about her.

Part of Cathy felt angry and awkward that Vickie would find it her business to tell Cathy what to do with her hair.

But her overwhelming feeling was that of curiosity.

"Um, why?" She was hoping to sounder cooler, more casual, but her curiosity popped out in the high rise of her voice.

"Because," Vickie leaned forwards, "you aren't like her. You aren't like them." She smiled so beginginly she almost looked serene. A calm, gentle body of water; whose river teeth were jutting out for the kill.

"No? What am I like?" Cathy tried to keep her voice even but she felt herself stiffen, Cathy wasn't use to having people flat up tell her what they thought of her. There was a part of her that wanted to lean in, eager to hear what Vickie would say, and a larger part of her that wanted to run away.

"You're nice Catherine, and decent. I liked you from the moment I met you," Vickie's words dropped enough sugary-sweetness over Cathy to decay every one of her teeth.

At this Cathy stifled a giggle. What? She hardly spent more than 3 minutes with Vickie, including this ever enjoyable conversation.

Cathy did not do a great job of stifling her giggle because like a storm cloud, Vickie's face darkened, her brows furrowed and her lips pressed together.

Then the flood gates opened.

"Listen to me Catherine, I don't know how things were done at Graves, but this is the big leagues, you may only be a sophomore, but the reputation you get will follow you for the next three years."

"What do you care about my reputation?" Cathy didn't quite know how everything worked at Will Rogers, but she could hardly believe that Evie Martin was such a bad influence. Man, she really needed to finally meet this Evie…

With a frozen glare, Vickie looked at Cathy, "I don't."

"Just remember that who you choose to hang out with will say a lot about the kind of girl you are." Vickie sneered as scanned Cathy's outfit, "do you really think you fit in with those girls? Do you really think they'll accept _you_?"

Cathy was wrong, Vickie's eyes weren't a flood, they were a damn tsunami.

"I got to get to class," Cathy said and walked away, her head held high, but her eyes worried, her mouth slightly open.

She shook her head and continued to walk.

XXXXX

Ponyboy Curtis decapitated Vickie Harper. At least, he decapitated the photo of her, her neck in his left hand, her head in his right hand.

A girl with jet black hair, and a sly grin leaned over, "ah, I think that was supposed to be on my locker."

Ponyboy looked at the ripped poster and back at the girl, she didn't seem upset, if anything she seemed rather amused. But still, Pony felt sort of bad for ripping up the girl's poster.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

But the girl rolled his eyes, "oh, don't be."

With a sigh she looked around, pictures of Vickie Harper adorned almost every free space in the hall. Wow Vickie was taking this seriously. Maybe Homecoming was as big of a deal as Vickie said?

Below a poster of a frog ( _the Biology department ordered too many for dissection and in an attempt to teach the Freshmen of Will Rogers about the 'joys of the free market' and earn extra money for a new microscope, they were trying to sell the excessive frogs to students_ ) was a full sized photo of Vickie, they both had the same expression.

This was ridiculous and Cathy couldn't help but burst out laughing, "my God, it's like _A Face in the Crowd."_

It wasn't a dramatic moment. It wasn't a moment where time stood still, where the earth stopped moving, where the only thing alive in that moment were the fast beat of two teenage hearts. But Ponyboy Curtis grinned to himself; no one, not his brothers, not the gang, digged movies the way he did, and no one made obscure movie references off the cuff, until this girl.

A few months ago even talking to a cute girl would have made Pony nervous, the memory of that girl in yellow still stung in the backlog of his mind. But maybe it was losing Johnny, maybe it was being separated from his brothers, maybe it was Dally's miraculous survival (not that the towhead would ever use the word 'miracle' to describe what happened to him), maybe it was even meeting Cherry and Marcia; but Pony wasn't nervous. If anything he sort of wanted to get to know this girl better.

"Hey, my name is Ponyboy Curtis," he said extending his hand out. He waited, internally cringing for the inevitable wide eyed, muffled giggle response he always got when he said his name for the first time.

But the girl, she didn't giggle, didn't look shocked; she didn't even try to tell him what a 'creative and original' name he had, like Cherry did. She just shook his hand, as if nothing about him could throw her off.

"Cathy Carlson," she said with a slight smile; "nice to meet you."

She had a surprisingly strong grip and long eye lashes. Real long eyelashes.

XXXXX

Ponyboy Curtis didn't expect to see Cathy at the grocery store where he and Two-Bit were killing time, and in Two-Bit's case, acting like a general nuisance, before meeting up with Steve and Evie for Cokes at the drug store next door.

Glory, but Steve looked as irritated as a wet alley cat snatched in the power line when Evie invited Pony to join her and Steve for an afternoon bite. But ever since Johnny died, though Ponyboy wouldn't call Evie Martin a friend, she was trying to reach out to him more, saying hi to him the hallways, asking how he was doing.

He appreciated that about Evie.

Though Steve acted like he had no idea what Evie was up to, in the back of his mind Pony wondered if Steve told Evie how hard he was taking Johnny's death. He tried, mostly because Darry told him too or else, to stop living in a vacuum. But there wasn't a day that went by when something or someone didn't remind him of his best friend.

Pony couldn't help but notice that while Steve could still be his jolly temperamental self, in between his scowls, his sarcastic mutterings and explosive temper was something approaching genuine admiration and concern for the youngest greaser.

Aw hell, he must be in bad shape if even _Steve_ was going soft over him.

Two-Bit invited himself. "Don't you have anything better, or _anyone_ better to _screw_?" Steve asked, as if he didn't already know the answer.

Two-Bit cheerful as always, just shook his head, "nope! You know Kathy would rather get run over by a freight train than to see my face right now."

"You sure she'd be able to tell the difference?" Pony piped up. Two-Bit smacked him playfully against the side of his head. For a 'playful' smack it sure did smart.

Pony shook his head, Kathy and Two-Bit had a strange relationship, they broke up and got back together so often, it made Pony dizzy, but still he couldn't imagine Two-Bit with anyone but blonde preacher's daughter.

Two-Bit with anyone but a blonde? Just wouldn't be natural.

Two-Bit was walking up and down the aisles, moving objects around; going on some rambling story about something that Bee Stevens did that pissed him off. For someone who Two-Bit professed not to like, he sure did talk an awful lot about Bridget Stevens.

Cathy Carlson looked at the row of candy; she was waiting for Ella and her brother to get off work. Cathy wondered why Ella never wanted Cathy to come to her house. Cathy didn't mind having Ella over, truthfully she was surprised that frizzy haired girl even wanted to step back in their house after she fell flat on her face, but Ella seemed to like the chaos of the Carlson home.

Cathy watched her brother put cans of Campbell soup in the bottom of the brown paper bag. He was a good kid, he was Cathy's favorite sibling, but well, she couldn't sometimes help but feel that there was something off about him. She didn't quite know what it was or why she thought that way; M&M was a smart kid, polite and quiet, but he was also naïve. Cathy knew she was sheltered, even more sheltered than girls like Ella Mitchell were. But M&M was the type of kid who would hitchhike a ride with a stranger without a second thought.

A shiver came over Cathy. She reminded herself that M&M was doing just fine, besides it was the prerogative of big sisters to worry about their little brothers since time began. When she and M&M were old and grey, when they both had spouses and children and grandchildren, Cathy would still be worried about her little brother. It was the natural order of things.

Cathy picked up a Mars bar and as she stood up she found herself face to face with that stocky boy with the weird name, Two-Bit was it?

He waved at her "well hello Miss. Carlson."

"Oh, hey Two-Bit," she said cheerfully. Standing next to him was Ponyboy Curtis. It was amazing for a school as large as Will Rogers everyone seemed to be connected.

She looked up at Pony and smiled, he was a good looking boy, a _very_ good looking boy. He had eyes that were an unusual shade of green, green with a hint of grey. They reminded Cathy of a March morning, but there was a spark in them, a promise of spring through the fog.

Cathy felt her heartbeat speed up.

And his dimples. Even when he only gave her a polite smile his dimples were noticeable. For a moment, Cathy was grateful that Two-Bit stood as a buffer between the two of them, because she was sure she was a nervous wreck.

Cathy brushed her hair behind her ears and looked down at her jumper. Vickie was right her outfit did make her look like a little girl. The butterflies flapped in her stomach.

"Y'all know each other?" Two-Bit asked, his eyebrow raised. Pony shrugged, "locker buddies," and Cathy laughed, but a small part of her felt like the butterflies had all dropped dead.

This was crazy, it was one thing to feel nervous about a boy that she liked, but Cathy hardly knew Ponyboy Curtis.

XXXXX

Evie Martin was still determined to go the Homecoming, on Steve's arm. She only had one problem: Steve. Evie loved her man, and no one could make her feel the rush of a passionate panic, the tingling shiver that rose from deep inside of her like Steve. Just thinking about him, Evie felt a rush of excitement.

Evie still wasn't sure how, Steve was pretty damn adamant about not letting her pay for the tickets, but that only made Evie more determined to solve the issue, after all Steve did for her, this was the least she could do. It would be a challenge, trying to convince the stubborn mechanic to give up some of his pride, but Evie never backed away from a challenge.

 _She welcomed it._

Killing time before Steve got off work, Evie decided to visit the store where she heard Ella Mitchell worked. The girl was quiet, but Evie liked her well enough, even if she was a bit of nervous wreck. Evie finally saw Craig Bryant and well, she still couldn't believe he had asked her to Homecoming.

 _Really? Ella?_ There had to be something up about that, good looking guys like Craig didn't just date girls like Ella for no reason. Evie didn't want to be mean, but hell, she knew the score. She hated it though. Ella was a nice girl.

But whatever was taking place between Craig and Ella wasn't none of Evie's business. Besides, between her part-time job at the hospital, school and doing Ella's hair, Evie didn't have time to keep up with Tulsa's version of _Search for Tomorrow._

Then there was Cathy. It bothered Evie real bad that this Cathy girl just assumed that she would do her hair, assume that she would do Bridget's hair. She could picture Cathy perfectly, a Soc princess, the type with a tight asshole and loose mouth. The type of girl who thought everything revolved around her.

Steve wasn't very sympathetic, "so," he flicked his cigarette butt away from the angry-heat that emitted from Evie like dragon's breath, which secretly turned him on, "don't do her hair."

Walking into the store, Evie spotted Ella at the checkout counter, her brows furrowed as she was adding up a customer's total.

"Hey Ella," Ella waved and though she seemed tired, there was a small smile on her face.

"How are you?" Ella asked while straightening the candy and gum display.

Evie sighed, between not going to Homecoming and this mysterious Cathy girl, Evie wasn't exactly in the brightest of moods.

She decided to ask Ella outright.

"Hey Ella, have you ever heard of this chick named Cathy Carlson? Apparently she's walking around telling everyone I'm gonna do her hair, and get this," Evie said with a barely contained snort, "she's telling that Bridget girl from our English class than I'm going to do _her_ hair too. Where the hell does she get off? I swear, if I ever run into her stuck up ass, I'm going give her a piece of my mind."

Ella Mitchell's eyes widen, and her pale skin turned a pallor so white the color does not exist on the color spectrum. Evie could feel the shadow of someone standing next to her, she hated people didn't respect personal space. She turned around, and there stood a dark haired girl.

"Hi, I'm Cathy Carlson" the pale, dark haired girl said evenly.

Well, wasn't this just perfect.

Evie didn't feel bad, the girl shouldn't have been in her space, shouldn't have been making assumptions that Evie was gonna do her hair.

Then she remembered; this was the same girl from the hospital, the one who bought a teddy bear or something. So that was Cathy. Evie had to chuckle, after all this time wondering who the hell Cathy was, the big mystery was solved by being _her._

 _Fuck_. Well wasn't this just fine and dandy. Evie didn't feel too bad, after all, she was having a private conversation with Ella. But Evie never got her jollies from being the 'mean girl.' If Kathy was here she would have really made this girl suffer, but Evie just got down to business.

"You're Cathy?"

Cathy nodded, and Evie could see that girl was squirming, though she tried her best to maintain a steely eye focus with Evie.

"Yeah, we met before, at the hospital."

Ella butted in, "you two know each other?" She sounded a bit relieved, even though based on Evie and Cathy's facial expressions, she had no reason to be.

With a disinterested shrug Evie nodded, "we both work down at the hospital."

Something in Cathy seemed to soften, "yes, I guess we do." Her hair was jet black and shiny and really it was nice hair, but bland. Against her will Evie began to think of how she could make Cathy's hair look better, if Ella's was a challenge because it was so out of control, Cathy's was a challenge because it was so mundane.

Evie couldn't believe this and she knew that she should walk away, but against her better judgment she began to speak.

"Cathy, I don't have time to do a bunch of hairdos for Homecoming, but I can give you a style, but it's not going to be free."

Cathy nodded, "I never thought it would be free." Funny thing, she seemed almost more offended on Evie's behalf than anything.

Evie sighed, this was too easy, something was gonna give, "alright, I'll do your hair, but I'm not doing Stevens' hair."

Cathy moved her mouth like she had a toothache. Ella said nothing.

"Okay, should be fun." She said in a voice so devoid of anything approaching 'fun' that Ella smirked.

Two-Bit and Pony ambled down the aisle where they spotted Ella, Evie and Cathy.

"Well hello Evelyn, where's your uglier half?" Two-Bit said, trying unobtrusively to stuff penny candy down in his pocket.

"He's coming."

Then Cathy remembered, Two-Bit and Pony with Evie and her boyfriend in the school foyer. Was everyone connected?

"Good, because if he wasn't I was gonna have the kid play for our dinners," Two-Bit said with a wink, and Pony mindlessly shoved his friend. As Two-Bit battled with gravity, he yelled out to Cathy, "hey, you wanna come, Cathy?"

Part of Cathy did want to come. She liked Two-Bit and she wanted to know more about her _locker buddy_ but she didn't want to push her luck with Evie, besides she had plans.

"Nah, no thanks Two-Bit; Ella and I are hanging out."

This time it was Evie's turn to look surprise. "Y'all know each other?" Two-Bit was a real friendly guy, but she couldn't picture him being friends with Cathy who seemed rather shy and closed off.

It was Cathy who spoke up, "I feel like I'm in the "Shadow Play" episode of The Twilight Zone," she said with an awkward chuckle. Ella laughed, Two-Bit gave an absent-minded but good natured shrug, Evie looked out the window impatiently for Steve. Pony smiled.

* * *

Thanks for reading. Hinton owns. We also do not own "A Face in the Crowd", "Search for Tomorrow" or "The Twilight Zone" although judging from the royalties, we probably wished we did. ;)


	9. The Magic of Learning Contrast

" _ **And always, there was the magic of learning things."**_

— **Betty Smith,** _**A Tree Grows in Brooklyn**_

* * *

Evie slammed her locker door shut, the force causing something to fall down in the locker beside her own. Probably a mirror, no doubt. Her neighboring locker belonged to Judy Martenero, a Soc-y girl in her grade, and one of the biggest, uptight bitches she had ever come across. Judy wasn't always so stuck-up and snobby, well, not until they started junior high—that was when everyone started venturing into their social cliques.

"Hey, Evie," a perky voice called out, capturing the girl's attention. She spun around, coming face to face with Angela Shepard, her lips turning down. The younger girl smiled, Jenny Arsele standing at her side with a cocky expression. "I heard you were running some kinda salon. That true?"

Well, Evie could have bashed someone's face in right about then. "Where'd ya hear that?"

She glared at the girls, wondering how word about her offering help to Ella Mitchell, and now Cathy Carlson, was getting around so quickly. Good Lord. If it had reached the likes of Angela Shepard, a freshman, then surely word was spreading, and not in a good way. It wasn't as if Evie actually ran a service or anything, so why was she suddenly this popular?

Angela cat-grinned. "Sylvia." Her eyes met Evie's. "I was just askin', 'cause if you're takin' customers, I was thinkin' about letting you do my nails for the homecoming dance."

Of-fucking-course Sylvia had to go open her big, fat mouth. Evie had told the other girl about helping out Ella Mitchell with her hair and makeup, as well as offering a style to Cathy Carlson, so Sylvia must had went and blabbed to every girl on their side of town—God only knew that Sylvia was a loud-mouth and couldn't keep a secret worth shit, especially when a bottle was in her hand.

"Well, I'm only helping _two_ girls," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "I ain't running no service here. And besides, who's taking you?"

But little Angela was ever persistent. "Bryon Douglas, of course. And are you sure? I know a few girls that would just _love_ some help, _cheap_ help, getting their hair done for homecoming." Her smile was stretching all the more. "It could help ya get some extra dough, too."

Evie considered the idea—it was tempting, but how in the hell would she have time to manage a business like that? She and Steve hadn't even gotten their tickets yet, and the dance was less than two weeks away! Glory, she couldn't actually book these girls with appointments, could she? She thought about Ella's out-of-control hair, and Cathy's plain locks, and . . . well, what about herself? Angela's words were growing more tempting, though, and she hated to admit it, but the younger teen was right—she could really make some serious dough if she decided to extend her "salon services."

"I'll think about it," was all she responded with, and turned away from Angela and Jenny, a scowl forming on her face as she headed in the opposite direction of them.

She had plans to speak to Sylvia about running her fucking mouth and spreading around that she was actually in business, like she was actually a hairdresser— The girl came to an abrupt stop, a thought crossing her mind as she considered her own words. A hairdresser . . . _her!_ Evie Martin. Well then, perhaps this was only the beginning for great things yet to come.

XXXXX

Ella was drumming her slender fingers on the notebook she and Evie were sharing for the English notes on their book assignment. So far, the two girls had quite a list of things their characters had in common, not to mention, similarities between the two stories. Her eyes scanned over the list, wondering how they were going to summarize it all into an actual essay, or whatever.

Beside her, Evie's eyes narrowed as she huffed. "Could you quit that?"

The brown-haired girl's eyes broadened at the bite in Evie's voice, her hand falling into her lap. "You okay, Evie?"

"Fantastic," came the cool response, and Evie frowned. "Ever since this Cathy chick found out about me doin' your hair, I've become something of a hot commodity, well, my hair services anyway." She scowled even more. "Sylvia went and told everyone that I'm actually running a business and booking clients, and Angela Shepard thinks she can get me them. Can you believe that?"

Ella felt bad, but she didn't know what to say. If Craig Bryant hadn't asked her out, then perhaps she would have told Evie not to worry about her—it wasn't as if she was actually important enough to worry about. Suddenly, she felt even worse, but she reminded herself that Evie was the one who had offered her help in the beginning, not the other way around.

"Well," Ella replied, trying to be helpful, "you don't have to help anyone if you don't want to."

"And that's the problem," Evie said, running a hand through her shiny locks. She sat up in her chair, resting her chin in her hands, elbows spread on the desk. "I'd like to test out my skills and all, see how good I am at different hair styles, and what better way than taking up the offer? I'm only worried 'cause I won't be able to fit everyone in."

The other girl's face was sympathetic. "How about you offer your help, but with a limited number of people you think you can fit into your schedule? Say, like five customers for nails, five for hair, five for makeup, and . . . well, you get it. Would that work?" She smiled. "You could use one night to do nails, and Saturday afternoon for hair and makeup."

Evie's brows rose at the thought, and she wondered if that would work. Well, she already had both Ella and Cathy for hair, and Ella for nails. Her partner's idea was even more tempting than Angela offering to get her customers, and as she thought more about testing her skills and making money with this side service, she began liking it more and more.

She grinned at Ella. "You wanna help me out with this?"

"In which way?" She sounded nervous, looking at Evie with wide eyes, her pale cheeks seeming to become even more chalky.

Evie merely rolled her eyes. "Well, _this_ was your idea, El. I'll need somebody to do booking for me." And then a smile formed on her lips. "You think this Cathy chick would consider making a few dollars, too? I could put her on hair washin'."

Ella nodded along thoughtfully. "That could work, I guess, but you'll have to ask Cathy yourself."

"Yeah," Evie agreed, sounding mildly perturbed. "I'll need some extra equipment, though. I mean, it don't sound like a lot, but five girls for every service each? That's including, hair, nails, brows, stylin', makeup . . ." She flicked her fingers back as she named her services. "How the hell am I supposed to get enough equipment for all that?"

But Ella was already thinking, and a certain person was coming to mind, somebody who she was sure Evie despised more than Miss Tracy for assigning her _The Scarlet Letter_ a week ago. Maybe she could talk to the other girl first and see if she was interested before bringing the idea up to Evie herself.

XXXXX

Dallas sneered down at the banner on the table in front of him. This shit was ridiculous, he thought with contempt, wanting to be anywhere but there. Glory, but the looks the other students were giving him made the idea of decking one of them even more tempting by the minute. He didn't know what in the fuck ol' Gir _dle_ was thinking—he was no good at art, and he was certainly no good at designing shit, either; this was absolute bullshit.

The bright words painted in the school colors stared back at him, though— _Will Rogers High School Presents: "Midnight in Paris" Homecoming 1965._

"That can't be your work," Two-Bit said, approaching the blond from behind. "God only knows you ain't that talented."

"Fuck off, Mathews," Dallas fired back, ready to whip his lighter out and fry the banner until it was nothing but . . . well, nothing.

"Now, now, Dallas," Two-Bit continued on, sounding quite chipper for someone who was now part of the Homecoming Committee. "That wouldn't be proper during school time, would it?"

The blond cocked an eyebrow. "Never stopped me."

"That's 'cause you're a dog, Winston," he replied, and laughed. "Well now, what have we here?" He reached for one of the paint brushes. "You supposed to be designing something?"

Dallas cursed everything under the sun. Yeah, he was _supposed_ to be writing the names of those on the committee to make sure they all received recognition and credit for all their hard work, blah, blah, blah, he didn't care. He really loathed being there, surrounded by these fucking people, save for Two-Bit, but even he got fucking annoying, standing there yapping away like being a part of this was actually an enjoyment or something.

"Gir _dle_ thinks I'm gonna write the committee's names on this board," he answered, inwardly cringing at how much of a pansy he sounded like. "Fuckin' bullshit, man."

Two-Bit stuffed his hands in his pockets, a grin plastered on his face. "Well, I think I got the best job there is." At the younger teen's look of interest, he continued. "I'm gonna hold the ballot box the night of the dance, you know, for the votes and all."

And then, ever so slowly, did a mischievous look take over the hood's face. "Oh, are you?"

XXXXX

"I just don't know what to think, Steve," Evie admitted, rolling onto her side as she pressed her face into her boyfriend's shoulder. "Do you think I should do it?"

Steve sighed, running his hand down her arm comfortingly. "You gotta do what you want, babe. I know you're all into this . . . beauty shit, so if you wanna help these girls, go for it."

Evie blinked in the darkness, pursing her lips. "It's gonna be a lot of work, but Ella Mitchell promised to help me out, and now I'm gonna try to get that Cathy girl, ya know Cathy Carlson? Well, I'm gonna try to rope her in, too. 'Sides, she was the one who opened her mouth to that Bridget Stevens, and it ain't like I'm gonna do all this work for nothin'."

He nodded. "So do whatever ya want, Eve."

Even though she had been looking for more of his support, she was content with his answer. Steve had known for the longest time that Evie wanted to be a beautician, that she was one day going to take over her mother's salon and, as she told him, be the best hairdresser in town. Steve had total confidence in her, and she was thankful for that.

Evie smiled, draping her arm around his torso and pulling his body closer to hers. Glory, but she just loved him so much, and these little moments—when it was just him and her—made her feel like she was on top of the world. She thanked her lucky stars that Beth was staying the night at a friend's house, that her mother was out playing Bingo with Aunt Margaret, and Daddy was working late at the school doing custodial work, which meant that she had the house all to herself, well until ten thirty or so. Still, that was plenty enough time for her and Steve to be together.

The boy responded to her touch immediately, flipping himself on top of her, leaning down to kiss her lips, loving the sound of her soft moans of pleasure. His eyes shifted toward the clock on her nightstand as his fingers slipped down to unbutton her blouse, pulling it up from where it was tucked into the waistband of her skirt. Gosh, he loved the feeling of her skin against his, the smoothness of her body, and her floral-like scent. He was certain that he would never get enough of her—nope, not in a million years would he ever get tired of her.

"Fuck, Evie," he groaned, nibbling her neck, as her hands reached down to undo his belt and jeans. A drizzle of saliva ran down her skin, disappearing in her hair, but Steve was too engrossed on pulling her panties off and hiking her skirt further up her torso to care about it.

Evie grinned as Steve slipped inside of her, her eyes becoming more and more glossy as their bodies fell in synchronization, two pitches riding the same wavelength. The more absorbed the two became in one another, the more Evie's twin-sized bed began to rock, the squeaky frame growing more audible the faster Steve moved. Evie's nails dug into his back as her eyes popped open at the sound, hoping to God that her mother or father didn't come home early.

Suddenly, without warning, Steve shifted, and Evie's body propelled forward, sending her forward with a jolt, her head whacking into the headboard with a _thump_.

"Fuck," she cried, reaching her hands up to rub the aching spot. "Steve!"

The two came to an abrupt stop at the sound of the front door slamming shut, both of their faces holding the same shocked expression. And, as if Evie's own fear of somebody walking in on her was becoming a reality, the sound of footsteps grew louder as somebody made their way down the hall. Steve reared up, practically flying off the bed as he attempted to maneuver his pants back up, an expression of sheer discomfort blanketing his entire countenance, before he slipped, one hand reaching out to steady himself, but not before the night table shook, sending Evie's lamp tumbling to the floor.

"Evie?" her father called out, and the girl nearly died of shock, pushing Steve toward the bedroom window as she tried to quickly fix the buttons on her blouse.

"Hold on!" she called back as Steve literally fell out of the window, his head disappearing into the bushes down below as he let out a barely audible holler of pain. "I'm just— I'm . . . changing!"

It was a good thing Steve hadn't drove to her house, she thought, glad that Soda had dropped him off after his shift at the DX. She could only imagine her father's face if he pulled up and saw her boyfriend's car parked outside—he would surely do something worse than ground her. Good Lord.

As Steve ran off of her property, she didn't miss the comical look on his face, and she could tell that he was laughing at the fact that her father had practically walked in on them going at it. Then again, Beth had nearly walked in on Evie as she touched herself for the first time when she was fourteen or so— _that_ had been embarrassing!

She shook her head, shoulders slumping as she placed the lamp back on her nightstand, her copy of _The Scarlet Letter_ staring up at her from the inside of her bag on the floor.

XXXXX

Vickie's blue eyes were so sharp, they could have shattered glass, George was certain. She was angry, that much he could tell, and he didn't want to say anything else that could potentially upset her more than what she was. George wasn't afraid of Vickie Harper, but, glory, she was a force to be reckoned with, and George really didn't want to end up on the girl's shit list.

"So, Craig is taking Ella Mitchell to the dance, correct?" she inquired, sounding more like she was checking off a list than asking a simple question.

George nodded. "Don't worry about Ella Mitchell. I have plans for her."

The blond girl merely raised her chin. "Well, that's all fine and dandy, George, but I need order around here, so here are _my_ plans for what's going to happen." She cleared her throat. "I have Bridget Stevens helping me with my campaign, and as you know, I need to— Well, _we_ need to win."

"We've established this," George replied, sighing at the girl's demanding tone. "And don't worry, we're going to win, and whatever your problem is with this Evelyn Martin, that will be taken care of, too."

"Oh, really?" Vickie asked, seeming to leak irritation. "Because I heard that she's actually running a salon business now, George, and you know what I _don't_ like?" Her eyes narrowed thinly. "I _don't_ like hearing about Evelyn Martin trying to get Bridget Stevens as a client. Gosh, George, you can be so dense, I swear." She inspected her perfectly manicured nails. "Evelyn needs to know her place around here."

George looked bored, but he was listening intently. Sometimes, Vickie took things like school dances and functions a little too far, but then again, everyone knew who ran the show around here, and the one thing that had already irked the girl that morning was the fact that she had learned about Two-Bit Mathews and Dallas Winston being a part of the homecoming committee, albeit for different jobs. The news alone nearly caused the girl's head to fry, and George could tell that she was livid.

"Now," Vickie continued on in a leisure voice, "I have Bridget occupied with me, so I'm not too worried about her, but this Catherine girl needs to learn her place around here, too, much like Evelyn. These girls are from two separate classes, and they _don't_ interact with each other." Her face was glowering, but she was scheming underneath. "If I hear anything else about this salon service of Evelyn Martin's, I think I'll just have to take care of it myself."

George grinned at that, knowing just how undermining Vickie Harper could be.

XXXXX

Ella was focused on her painting of Cathy Carlson, her lips pressed together in a fine line as she looked back and forth between her portrait and the actual girl. Cathy was engrossed in her own painting of Ella to notice that the girl was concentrating on her as well. Ella thought that her painting was a good interpretation of how she visualized Cathy—strong, independent, sympathetic . . . She had a lot of decent qualities, so the picture of the rising wave with calm waters flowing beneath, framed by a light blue sky, seemed to speak volumes of the younger teen.

The brown-haired girl smiled, reaching for a paintbrush to finish filling in the colors. When she glanced back up, she was surprised to find Cathy looking at her, gray eyes seeming to be in a trance of some sort, and Ella could tell, much like she had just been doing, that Cathy was envisioning her as her object of comparison.

Her gaze shifted to Cathy's own painting, which was situated on her easel, and she could just make out some forming branches and what appeared to be leaves.

"I'm not quite finished with it," Cathy announced, breaking Ella's stare.

"Oh, sorry," Ella replied, flushing. "I just— It's good from what I can see. Really good." Cathy was a really brilliant painter, and she seemed to absorb more in the class than what Ella did. Ella liked Cathy because she was so focused and observant, able to see and analyze things that she couldn't.

Cathy smiled. "Thanks!"

Ella licked her lips nervously. "So, um, are you letting Evie Martin do your hair for homecoming?"

The younger teen sighed. "Well, she told me she would help me with a style, so maybe. What about you, Ella?"

"Yes," she answered almost instantly. "I'm actually going to her house this evening so she can give me ideas and do a practice run on my hair." Cathy inwardly grimaced, but Ella continued on. "Since so many people seem to be interested in her doing their hair, too, she offered to let me help her book appointments, but there's only going to be so many girls she can help, so everything is limited."

Cathy nodded along. "I wonder what she thinks she's going to do with my hair."

Ella stared, hoping to God that Evie didn't cut too much of her own hair off. She liked her hair long, even if it was hopelessly bushy and a little frizzed, but glory, the length is what saved it from puffing up like an Afro—good Lord. Cathy had shorter hair, but it was straight and easier to manage, so what _would_ Evie do with it?

"Maybe curls?" Ella guessed, looking somewhat curious.

The dark-haired girl shrugged. "Maybe. So, you're a bookkeeper now?"

"Something like that, but—" She paused, wondering how in the world she was going to say this, or how Cathy would react when she even offered the job. "Evie was wondering if you would be interested in helping out, too."

The girl perked up, but she didn't look too enthused. "Help? With what?"

"Well, if you wanted to help out with her salon business," she responded, trying not to sound like she was as nervous as she was. "Like maybe washing hair or something. Of course," she continued quickly, "you don't have to if you don't want to."

Cathy, though, simply nodded. "I'll think about it."

XXXXX

Truth be told, Bridget Stevens made Ella nervous. She thought she was decent enough in terms of personality, but she was still an upper class girl with style, charm, and looks—even Jerry Thompson had asked her out, and she was friends with Vickie Harper to top it off. However, when she found the girl by her lonesome at her locker later that afternoon, not surrounded by Vickie, Lucy, Missy, or her other friends, she looked just like your typical teenage girl.

Ella relaxed as she approached her. "Hi, Bridget."

The girl's green eyes fixed on the brown-haired girl, but a small smile touched her lips. "Ella, right?" she asked. "Ella Mitchell?"

"Yes."

Bridget nodded once, looking the other girl over. "How are you?"

"Good, thanks," she responded. "You?"

"Good!"

Ella breathed in slowly, hoping she wouldn't make a fool of herself. She wasn't quite sure how to go about bringing up Evie Martin, especially when she knew how Evie felt about Bridget. Then again, she reminded herself that Evie didn't particularly _hate_ Bridget, either, though there was some form of jealousy that she felt directed at the wild-haired girl. Ella allowed herself to wonder for a brief second if Evie would like Bridget at all if she had never made that comment.

"Well, I was wondering if you would be interested in helping out with something," she started, an image of Evie strangling the hell out of her entering her mind as the words fell from her lips.

Bridget's brows pulled together. "What is it?"

"Well—" But before Ella could get the words out of her mouth, Cherry Valance was calling Bridget's name, nodding once to Ella, before coming to a stop at the other girl's locker. "Vickie is looking for you in the auditorium."

Bridget's shoulders seemed to drop. "I know, I know," she replied, and turned back to Ella with an apologetic look. "Can we continue this another time? I don't mean to be rude, but—"

"No, it's fine!" Ella said, quickly dropping the subject. "I'll see you around."

Bridget offered her a polite smile before following Cherry down the hall, the two of them disappearing around the corner, leaving Ella to wonder what she ought to do about Evie's situation of gathering enough equipment for her . . . newfound business.

XXXXX

"Right, now," Evie said, and tilted Ella's head forward, "I think two inches off will do just fine, just to clean it up."

Ella mentally cringed. "Two inches?"

"Don't whine, it ain't that much, Ella," Evie replied, placing a hand on her hip, scissors dangling in the other. "C'mon, I promise it'll grow back in a few weeks. Sheesh, with all the hair you've got, it won't even be noticeable." She pushed Ella's head back down. "Now just hush up. While I'm cuttin' it, why don't you tell me how you want your hair styled for the dance."

The brown-haired teen almost wished that she hadn't agreed to this. "I'm not sure, but I was thinking about curling my hair."

 _Snip._

"Curls, huh?" Evie repeated. "I think ringlets might look good on you. You've gotta nice face for them, not too round or nothin'."

She flushed. "You think?"

"Yeah."

The girl grinned, trying to envision herself with a head full of perfected ringlets, hair frizz free and finally tamed. Evie was right, though, her hair was incredibly long—long enough that she could sit on it if it was straightened out. Evie sounded rather impressed with the length along with the fact that it wasn't damaged or anything, and Ella remembered a week back when she complimented her nail-beds as well. Ella had never found anything about herself to be attractive, so hearing others point out positive attributes about her made her feel good about herself.

Evie continued to snip at her hair, eyes intent and focused on what she was doing. Ella kept her head down like the other girl had instructed, but she could see her face reflecting back at her through the vanity mirror. Ella trusted Evie to fix her hair and makeup, even if this was only a test to see what she could actually do with her appearance.

"So," Ella said after a few minutes, "do you think you can do ringlets, then?"

Evie nearly busted out laughing. "Do I _think_ I can? I _know_ I can. See, my mom's a hairdresser, and she taught me just about everything I know about hair. I'm gonna take the salon over some day, whenever she retires. It's been . . . well, it's been my dream since I was a young girl."

The other girl was stunned to hear Evie talking like that. She imagined that Evie had always wanted to be a beautician, but just hearing the passion seeping through her voice when she spoke about it was incredible. It seemed that Evie's greatest desire was to help others in some way, even if it was with their appearances. Then again, Ella noted, Evie _was_ good at what she did, and the other girl found her skills to be very admirable.

As the girl set to work on styling her hair, Ella couldn't help but think of how wrong so many people were about Evie Martin—they sure had a lot to learn.

" _ **I have laughed, in bitterness and agony of heart, at the contrast between what I seem and what I am!"**_ — **Nathaniel Hawthorne,** _ **The Scarlet Letter**_

* * *

 **Happy Palm Sunday, y'all!**

 **You know the drill** **—S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders, though sometimes we wish we did. ;)  
**

 **Thank you for all of the positive feedback!**


	10. The Impossible Taming of a Honey Bee

**Author's Note: Happy Easter, y'all! Here's a gift from the bunny – an update!**

XXXXX

 _"_ _Oh to be a pear tree –_ any _tree in bloom! With kissing bees singing of the beginning of the world! She was sixteen. She had glossy leaves and bursting buds and she wanted to struggle with life but it seemed to elude her. Where were the singing bees for her?"_ – Zora Neale Hurston, _Their Eyes Were Watching God_

It was so fucking cold.

It was so fucking cold, and the breeze was blowing up her cheer skirt like it had indecent intentions. As Bridget made her way back to the school after cheer practice, she got a sick feeling in her stomach. She'd asked Ella to meet her after school during English so they could finish their discussion from the other day that Vickie had interrupted. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that she was making her way to Mrs. Girdle's art room to meet her, not so much.

She had no idea what it was Ella wanted to talk about. That's probably what scared her the most.

The girl felt a bit silly walking through the halls in her cheer uniform. Her white tennis shoes slapped against the tile and her sweater felt like it was hugging her too tightly today. God, had the art rooms always been this far away? And as soon as she got to the classroom, the door opened just an inch from her nose, nearly hitting her, and out came Two-Bit and Dallas Winston (and some other boy, but he wasn't important), carrying art supplies and a large box. Bridget froze in her spot.

"Howdy, Miz Stevens," Two-Bit greeted.

"Howdy," she garbled back, feeling confused. What the hell were _they_ doing here? Two-Bit snorted with laughter, and Dallas's lip curled just slightly, his cold eyes seeming as if they were commencing to pierce into her soul.

And _Howdy?_ What was she now, some mild-mannered farmer's daughter who'd stuck close to home her whole life but had plans to see the big city _some_ day but not today and –

"You mind?" Dallas spat. "We got places to be."

"Now, _Dallas_ ," Two-Bit playfully reprimanded. "But seriously, Stevens, yer not makin' a very good door right now, honey."

Bridget side-stepped them and let them by, and then headed into the classroom where Ella was waiting for her. "Hi," Ella said, her voice a bit hollow.

"Hi," Bridget breathed. She raised an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

Ella quickly nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Everything's…fine." She paused a moment. "I tutor him."

"Who?"

"Dallas Winston," she said quietly. Now both of Bridget's brows were raised in surprise.

"Oh. Sorry to hear that," she said, cringing a little. Bridget took a seat opposite Ella and set her books on the table beside her. "I guess the two of them are the thorns in our sides, huh?" She tried to joke, but the truth of the matter was that Bridget had multiple thorns, and Two-Bit Mathews was the least of her worries now. Vickie had taken over that coveted spot.

"I guess," Ella sighed. "Anyways, what I was going to ask you earlier…I was wondering if you could help me with something."

Bridget nodded. Was it just her, or was this room kinda fumy? "Right. What do you need help with?"

Ella squirmed on her stool, making it squeak. "You might not like it."

"Ella," Bridget sighed, shutting her eyes, "please just tell me what it is." She knew she sounded tart, but she just wanted to go home. And Bridget liked Ella, she did – at least, from the little time she'd spent with her. But for as wishy-washy as Bridget herself was, she wasn't in the mood to take it from anybody else.

"Right," Ella said, trying to sound confident. "Well, Evie Martin, she's my partner for the assignment in English, she…well, she offered to do my hair for homecoming, ya know? Cuz mine's a _mess_ and I don't know what to do with it and she really wanted the experience and all. And then I told Cathy Carlson about it – "

"Wait," Bridget cut in, "Cathy Carlson? You mean _Catherine_ Carlson?"

"I think she goes by Cathy, but yeah…"

"You know her?"

"Yeah," Ella said, looking at Bridget oddly. "We're partners for an art project. Anyways, suddenly she was interested in the whole thing – "

"I'm supposed to be getting her a date," Bridget mumbled. "I need to work on that." God, everything was in a fuzz. "Okay, sorry, sorry. You were saying?"

Well, Ella hadn't known _that_. And now she was curious as to how Bridget knew Cathy, but she'd save that question for another time. "Well, in short, the word got out. Now Angela Shepard and Jenny Arsele are interested, and so are a bunch of their friends. They all think Evie's just gonna do everything for them for homecoming, and she's really stressed about it. So I told her what she should do is make five spots for everything – hair, nails, makeup – so that it's more manageable. And now I'm taking bookings for her, and Cathy might wash hair, but then there's the whole problem of paying for all the equipment she's gonna need, and I was wondering – "

"You were wondering if I could help you pay," Bridget deadpanned. She should have seen this coming. Bridget was, if nothing else, useful, if only for her money. Ella's expression softened.

"It's not like that."

Bridget wanted to say that it was _exactly_ like that, but she didn't. Because she realized this was her chance. To tell Evie she was sorry. And her soul needed that more than anything. Bridget knew that she was too weak to go on carrying this guilt forever. "I'll do it."

"Wait – what?"

Bridget took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Oh, if Vickie were to ever find out about this…Bridget would pay with her head. "I'll pay for all the equipment. However much you need. Just give me a spot to get my hair done in return. Where is this happening?"

Ella shrugged, still a bit shocked. "Um. Uh…I don't know yet. I mean, it probably wouldn't be best for it to happen at Evie's mother's salon -"

"Well, you tell Evie what I said, and tell her that if she needs to, she can do it at my house."

If Ella wasn't shocked before, she was sure as shit shocked now. "Wait – really?"

Bridget rolled her eyes. She felt bad about it, but this whole conversation was making her feel nervous and impatient. " _Yes_ , really. My father works a lot, and we'll have enough space. It's really not a problem."

Ella was still dumbfounded. So…this could happen. This could actually, really happen! Evie would flip when she heard this – probably in a bad way, but still, this was their only option so far. "So you're really gonna pay for it _and_ offer up your house?"

" _Yes_ , Ella."

"Wow," she breathed.

"How much money do you need?"

"Um. Maybe a hundred dollars?"

Bridget gave her a short nod. "Fine. That's fine. I'll get it to you whenever. Just give me a heads-up about it, okay?"

Ella nodded. The girl never imagined the day where she'd see someone as put-together as Bridget Stevens like this. For starters, it was practically a miracle that she was offering to help at all. Second, Ella realized that this meant she'd get to see the inside of one of those west-side homes. Third, she was also slowly realizing that even though she was offering her help, Bridget looked smaller and paler than usual, like the whole thing was making her nervous. But Ella couldn't really blame her – if she were in Bridget's position, she'd be nervous, too. (Hell, she _was_ nervous.) After all, Ella didn't have Vickie Harper riding her ass.

"We will. Promise. Just…thank you so much for doing this."

Bridget waved her off, swallowing roughly. "It's no problem."

Ella didn't quite buy that. "Are you alright?" she asked. Bridget gave her a weak smile.

"Fine," she lied.

She was really in it deep, now.

XXXXX

"…and if we're to truly understand the Gilded Age, we must first understand what the word ' _gilded'_ means. On top, there is a golden veneer, giving us the perception that everything in this time period was – on the surface level – perfect. However, we find on closer inspection that what we believed to be something deeper is in fact superficial. The opulence and philanthropy of America's upper class was a convenient cover-up of a nation recovering from civil war…"

Bridget was fighting to stay awake. Vickie had been working her like a cruel taskmaster, even if she did smile all the way through it and thanked her for her work. But Bridget could hardly think of such things, what with Ella's proposal. She knew that Evie didn't like her, probably hated her, but there was a part of Bridget that wanted so badly to be forgiven that she'd do _anything_. Anything! It was a cruel world she lived in where she could not have both Evie's forgiveness and Vickie's friendship. A cruel world indeed.

Then there was the matter of actually getting the money to Evie. Or, rather, getting the money _for_ her. Bridget's father would certainly notice that the money was missing, and if Dr. Stevens' daughter were to tell him she'd spent that much money just getting her hair done, he'd likely blow a gasket. And now that she'd offered their home, she'd have to find a time when her father was out of the house. Or, would he just accept the fact that all these girls were going to be hanging around? And would they do it in the kitchen? Couldn't hairstyling get messy? Bridget didn't want any hair product getting on her new sheets.

The kitchen, then. Or, if the weather was nice, the porch. Not her bedroom. She wouldn't put it past any of those girls to go snooping around her things.

Oh, what had she gotten herself into!

XXXXX

Ella didn't know if she could consider what she and Evie were doing as "hanging out" in the normal sense, but they were together, and they weren't at school or each other's houses (well – Evie's house), and they weren't working on their project. They were at a diner, sitting together in a booth, to talk about this little business project of theirs. Or, of Evie's. Ella didn't know if it was "theirs."

"So, I think I found a way that we could get the money," Ella began, feeling a bit nervous. She'd pursued this plan all on her own, and she could only hope Evie wouldn't hit the roof. Her new friend raised a perfect eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah? What'd ya learn?"

Ella trailed some of the condensation on her glass with her finger. "I talked to Bridget Stevens," she said gently, and Evie's eyes went wide.

"You _what?"_

"Just hear me out," Ella said, putting her hand up and trying to stay calm because truth be told, this scared her, too. Though, Evie was probably scared _and_ pissed. A volatile mix. "She said she'd pay for _everything,_ all the equipment, if you give her a spot to get her hair done."

"Is that all?" Evie spit.

"And," Ella added, "she offered for us to use her house so we don't have to use yours or your mom's salon."

Evie sat back against the booth with her arms crossed over her chest. Perfect. The solution to her problem literally falls right into her lap, but it's the last solution in the world that she wanted. If she weren't so desperate, she'd have told Ella to tell Bridget that she could shove that offer right up her lily-white asshole.

But she was desperate.

Because of course she was desperate.

It was a cruel, cruel universe indeed.

"She's really serious?" Evie asked, trying to keep the bite out of her tone, though it was hard. Ella nodded.

"She is."

Evie bit her lip. "And Cathy, can she wash hair for us? Or…do _any_ thing?"

"I think she could. She said she'd think about it, but I'll bet she does it, especially if you're gonna do her hair, too."

Well. Alright then.

XXXXX

Evie thought to herself that she must be crazy to let Sylvia spend the night at her place – on a school night, no less – after the stunt she'd pulled, but after Sandy, Evie hadn't been doing so well in the friend department these days, so she was sticking with Sylvia. Beth and Evie were both used to their sister having friends over, and the sister without a friend for the night would kick the other out of their bedroom, so Evie and Sylvia were curled up on the couch, Evie's head at one end and Sylvia's at the other, their feet touching through blankets. Everyone else in the house was already asleep, but the two girls were flipping through magazines.

"So are you actually going to do it?"

Evie set folded her magazine so her eyes were peeking over. Sylvia was still looking through hers. "Do what?"

"You know," Sylvia shrugged. "Do all them girls' hair for homecoming."

Evie sighed and went back to her magazine. "Yeah, I s'pose so. I mean, I'm getting paid for it. We found a way to pay for all the supplies, and we got a place to do it. So…yeah. Guess I am." Evie was trying to make it sound like it was no big deal, like it was boring or something, but the truth was that even though she was going to have to put up with plenty of people she didn't exactly like, this was her chance to test her skills. To make some dough. It was really sorta exciting. "Why?"

"I dunno. Just curious."

"Curious enough to ask around about it?"

It was silent for a moment. "You know I ain't no good at keepin' secrets," Sylvia said, her tone mischievous. "I was just tryin' to make conversation, anyways."

"Yeah, well," Evie drawled, "now I gotta do up Jenny Arsele and Angela Shepard, so thanks a lot."

"Whaddya got against them? They ain't so bad."

 _Ain't so bad_ , yeah _right_. Evie knew people said shit about her, and say what they want, but she was no Angela Shepard. Even as a freshman, with her connection to her hoodlum older brothers, she had a reputation. Evie didn't know much about Jenny Arsele, but if she was hanging around Angela, then she was probably a bitch, too. And now she was giving 'em makeovers. Jesus H. Christ.

"Steve's buddies with her brothers' gang," Sylvia continued.

"They ain't buddies," Evie grumbled. Because they _weren't._ Being allies and being friends were two very different states of being. Evie would know.

"Whatever," Sylvia sighed. She set her magazine on the coffee table and shut off the light. "Good night."

Evie wasn't finished with her article, but she just threw her magazine aside. She knew you had to know when to pick your battles.

XXXXX

"Bridget, I don't know what I make of this Catherine Carlson. She's…she's _snarky._ "

"Snarky?" Bridget repeated around a yawn. "She doesn't seem snarky to me."

Vickie lifted her chin up, her nose pointed in the air. "Well, then I guess she hasn't shown you that side of herself."

Bridget raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Sometimes, it was best to just let Vickie have her opinions and leave it at that. Though, with this, Bridget felt a bit hurt. Bridget liked Cathy, she did, but it seemed as if Vickie had almost become obsessed with the poor girl ever since their run-in. Bridget had been over at Vickie's just last night, and it was about all she could talk about. While the two of them worked on campaign stuff and Bridget helped with some of Vickie's homecoming committee duties, she found plenty to say about the new- _new_ girl.

"She dresses like she's still in elementary school," Vickie sneered as she glued. "Did you see what she was wearing the other day? She looked like Little Miss Sunshine in that get-up."

Bridget suddenly felt very embarrassed in her all-pink outfit. "I guess," she mumbled, even though she really didn't agree.

Today, though, Bridget was wearing a plaid dress and pantyhose – not knee socks – and had her hair clipped back in an attempt to make herself look less wild and more grown-up. Just in case Vickie thought she dressed like a baby, too.

"You don't really know her that well, do you?" Bridget asked as they made their way to the cafeteria for lunch. No poster hanging today, though Bridget wouldn't have minded. She wasn't exactly hungry – too much on her mind.

"I know her well enough," Vickie said. Then, "Speak of the devil…Watch this. Catherine! Over here, Catherine!" Vickie waved.

Cathy was a few paces ahead of them, and she stopped in the lunch rush and turned around. Bridget wanted to hide. Did Vickie do things like this on purpose just to prove a point? To embarrass her? If so, then what kind of friend was she? But at the same time, Vickie and Bridget liked all the same bands, the same stores, had silly inside jokes, rolled their eyes at a lot of the same things. What Bridget had with these girls was something she'd never had before. She wasn't about to let that go.

But she also didn't want Cathy to think she was like Vickie.

"Cathy, you should sit with us today," Vickie offered as they caught up to the younger girl. Cathy raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I should?"

"Of _course_ you should. I'd love to get a chance to introduce you to everybody." Vickie smiled benignly. "What have you been doing during your lunch hour, anyways?"

Cathy shrugged. "Sometimes I go to the library."

Vickie shook her head like Cathy was the most naïve, poor, helpless soul she'd ever come across. "A girl like you shouldn't be spending her lunch period in the library. Come on."

Bridget felt an odd protective urge when the three of them sat down with the rest of the group. She had no idea what Vickie's motives were, but she didn't want Cathy to feel uncomfortable, or worse – form a new, more negative opinion of Bridget and her friends. God, she didn't think she could take that.

Bridget stayed back with Cathy when the rest of the girls went to go get their lunches – Cathy had brought her lunch, and Bridget figured the Coke she had was enough. Cathy pulled a sandwich wrapped in wax paper out of her brown bag while she looked around the cafeteria.

"Sorry about Vickie," the older girl blurted out. "She can be…demanding."

Cathy rolled her eyes. "I've noticed. I don't get her. Sometimes she's nice, and sometimes she's a real jerk."

"She's just intense," Bridget tried to explain. She sighed. "Anyways, she's right – you're welcome to sit with us whenever you want."

Cathy gave her a weak smile. "Yeah, I might. So, uh, I heard you talked to Ella about what Evie's doing."

Bridget swallowed. "I did," she said easily, shrugging a little. "She said you might wash hair."

"I might."

"I wouldn't mind if you did. It might be nice to have you around helping even after she's done your hair because I offered up my place for her to do it all at."

Cathy raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Seriously?" Bridget nodded. "Oh. That's…that's nice of you."

Cathy couldn't reconcile it – Bridget _was_ a nice girl. What the hell was she doing hanging around Vickie?

XXXXX

"Stevens!"

There was only one person who ever called her by just her last name, and that was Two-Bit. But this was a girl's voice. Bridget stopped on the sidewalk and saw Evie walking up to her, looking mad. God, what had she done _now?_ And whatever it was, could she at least make it quick? It was freezing. The wind felt like pinpricks against her skin.

"Hi, Evie," Bridget greeted, trying to sound friendly. "What's up?"

Evie raised her eyebrows. " _What's up?_ " She repeated. What was so wrong with that? Bridget said _what's up_ all the time! Evie shook her head. "Whatever. I talked to Ella Mitchell yesterday about your offer."

Bridget felt all the blood rush from her face. "Oh?" She was trying to sound nonchalant. "She told you…everything?"

Evie looked like she wanted to scream, she was so impatient. "Of course she did," she said testily. "Are you serious about what you said?"

"Of _course_ I am," Bridget said back smartly. "I'll offer my house, I'll give you my money, but you have to give me a spot, or no deal."

This was such a foreign feeling, such an odd position for Bridget to be in. Her? Negotiating? Trying to command as large a presence as Vickie's? Wasn't exactly her usual play. And she wasn't really comfortable with it, either. However, Bridget had motives of her own. Not cruel ones, but she wanted to let Evie know she was sorry about what she said. It was just…hard to actually say it. This was somehow easier. Continuing to be a jerk. Yes, perfect.

Evie narrowed her eyes. This was really only the second conversation she'd ever had with Bridget, but it was exactly what she had been expecting from it. Give it some time, and Bridget would probably be no better than Vickie – maybe even worse. " _Fine_ ," she bit out. Bridget had the decency to, at the very least, not look _too_ smug.

"Fine," she said back, more softly than Evie had.

Evie shifted her books in her arms and cleared her throat daintily. "I'll let you know more when I do. Fair?"

"Fair." Bridget bit her lip. "Are you even going to homecoming?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Bridget shrugged. "I just didn't know," she mumbled, scuffing her shoes against the cement.

"Well, it's not just for girls like you, ya know. Anybody's allowed to go."

"I know that."

"Oh, yeah? Well, know this, too – I don't like this, Bridget Stevens. I don't like any of this. I don't like that I'm gonna feel like I owe you for the rest of my life. I don't like that I'm gonna hafta be the person to try and tame that mane of yours. But at least my man ain't got no limp dick." Evie smirked. "See ya soon."

Bridget was appalled. Her mouth hung open in shock as Evie walked away. _Limp dick?!_ Bridget hadn't even seen Jerry in _that_ way, much less have _done it_ with him! Where did Evie get off? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. This was all giving the poor girl a complex. Bridget swallowed the lump in her throat, wincing at the sick taste in her mouth and telling herself that her teary eyes were from the stinging winds. Between Vickie _and_ Evie riding her, she didn't know how long she'd be able to take it, if the sick feeling in her stomach and the weary shuffle of her steps were anything to go by.

She really needed to learn how to say _no_ to people.

XXXXX

Bridget hated being alone. Really and truly hated it.

When she got home after school, there was a note from her father saying he'd be working late, and wasn't that just _perfect_. One of the few times she not just _needed_ him to be here, but _wanted_ him here, too, and he was gone. It was one of the pains of growing up with only one parent: when they had to be gone, they _had_ to be gone. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

 _Limp dick_. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Bridget had never even thought about that…that part of Jerry before, and now it was _all_ she could think about. Damn that Evie Martin! If this were her old school back in New York, she wouldn't be in this situation. Ooh, sometimes she could just go off on her father for hours if she had the chance.

But she didn't have but a couple friends in New York. And who knew how real that was?

So the girl spent her evening alone. She thought about how she was going to have Evie do her hair while she did her homework. She thought about what else she and Vickie needed to get down for her campaign while she made dinner. And she thought about limp dicks while she ate, bending a buttered noodle and cringing at the dirty comparison.

 _Limp dick_. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

Made her wonder if Evie actually knew that was true.

No. That was ridiculous.

But it did make her wonder. About…about that trait in men. Boys. Men. Were they boys, or were they men? Was she a woman, or was she a girl? She must be a girl. She couldn't _possibly_ be a woman. But did girls think about the penises of boys they liked? Probably not. Probably.

Bridget lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The fan whirled lazily, creaking back and forth a bit, and a slight breeze came in through her window, shocking her skin under her thin white nightgown. She lay still, her covers thrown off her body, letting the cool air envelope her instead. She should have been falling asleep, but she was wide awake with her eyes shut.

 _The first person I think of_ she thought _the first boy that comes to mind. He must mean something. He has to mean something. And he has to mean something to me. He can't mean something to Vickie or to Missy or to Cherry or to any of the rest of them. I may not mean anything to him, though. But don't they say that if you dream of somebody particular, that's the universe telling you they're thinking of you? Isn't that what they say? Oh, God_ she maybe prayed again _please let me be important to someone._

Jerry Thompson, she figured. She figured it _must_ be Jerry Thompson who she'd see. (He's the one who had asked her to homecoming, after all. And even though he might have…yes. That.) And she was confident that she _would_ see somebody, like he was coming to her to tell her in person almost. That he cared about her. But Bridget woke up in the middle of the night chilled and, to her dismay, slightly dewy. My, that was embarrassing. Even all alone like she was. Whatever – whoever – it was she had seen, they had certainly…well. Yes.

Maybe it was just her period.

(It was not her period.)

As she stood underneath the spray of the shower to wash off this dirty feeling, it was the heat, the growing warmth through her body that shocked her awake. She would assume she was blushing from embarrassment if it weren't for the hot water. Damn her mother, leaving them like this. Bridget couldn't go to her father about things like this! About boys and love and…and fucking dewy underwear! Ugh. Boys! They weren't good for anything. Even Jerry. Because Jerry was pleasant and well-behaved and kind. He didn't drive her up a wall every time she spoke to him. He was easy. He was _too_ easy. It was the boys like Two-Bit Mathews that drove her crazy. Boys like him that would probably be cute if he'd trim those sideburns and wasn't so _annoying_ and didn't look at her that _way_ every time she so much as glanced at him.

Bridget might just fall in love with a boy like him if he…if he just…if Two-Bit Mathews simply…if he _just_ ….

Bridget's mind was spinning. The world seemed to tip on its axis. She placed her hand on the wall just to hold herself up. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach, and ended up spitting up stringy bile and watching it swirl down the drain. Bridget slumped to the floor. Really? _Really?_ Getting sick over a boy. This is what her life had come to. She'd make a quip that of _course_ that ridiculous Two-Bit Mathews made her sick to her stomach, but there was a more serious part of her that knew it was bats – not butterflies – in her stomach that made her feel this way when she thought about him.

Well. Maybe she had puked for a different reason, but it is true that whenever she thought of Two-Bit, there was some weird physical reaction. The flip-flopping stomach, the warmth in her chest, the dizzy feeling, the…the…the, uh, moist feeling she'd gotten this morning was probably his fault, too.

Wait.

 _Wait_.

Did that…did that mean that it was _him?_

No. No, she was overthinking this. She always did this, she _always_ did this. Why was her mind doing this to her? What had she done to deserve this? See, Jerry was a good, nice, talented young man. He was going places. He was smart and good-looking and kind to her when other boys sometimes weren't (like Bob Sheldon).

But Two-Bit Mathews…she'd seen him. She'd shut her eyes, and he was there, the first person she thought of. Sometimes the only person she thought of. Her heart _ached_ for him. And not because of pity towards him, but an animalistic desire for him that she couldn't ignore. Not anymore. See, he _was_ cute. Hell, he was more than cute. Jerry was handsome, sure. But Two-Bit Mathews made her go weak at the knees. He was tall and well-built and had good features. His eyes were gorgeous and stormy and his grin was wide and genuine. That's what was most attractive about him: how candid and sincere everything about him was, his whole aura. Nevermind the long hair and the old flannels and torn-up jeans. Nevermind the _ridiculous_ scuffed cowboy boots and sideburns.

Nevermind all that.

No, she focused on those eyes of his and that smile. And his drawling, husky country accent. (To think Bridget Marie Stevens, who everyone thought was cosmopolitan and refined, would find his hick drawl _attractive!_ ) Oh, god. Thinking about all of it was upsetting her stomach again, and she leaned her head back onto the wall and cried. No messy tears, but a steady drip-drip-drip that made her occasionally shakily suck in air and her nose run. She was a miserable mess.

When she got of the shower, after she'd blown her nose and stopped crying, and even though she was cold and shivering and felt sick and weaker than a kitten, she stood naked in front of her mirror and examined. She was pale, her skin even whiter than her usual fairness. There was that stupid gap in her teeth that Two-Bit had brought up – but it wasn't even that big! (Just a small slit. Hardly anything to point out.) Her eyes were big, but were they too big? And her hair…

Oh, her hair.

(She scowled at herself and decided to just move on from that for now.)

There were some freckles on her nose and shoulders, and the rest of her body for that matter. Like she'd been dusted with cinnamon. Blue veins popped up on her milky white skin. Bridget placed a hand on her stomach, felt how even though it was flat, she still sucked in. She cupped her breasts and shook her head in disappointment. There were girls in middle school with bigger breasts than hers. It was like womanhood was a promised land that had been tantalizingly dangled in front of her all her young life, the promise of a full body and instant sex appeal, but that had been ripped from her as if the universe had been playing a cruel joke on her the whole time and was now laughing at her expense.

What Jerry saw in her was a mystery.

And the possibility that Two-Bit would ever look at her and see anything more than a scared little girl was outside the realm of possible things.

Did she really think Evie could fix _any_ of this?

Bridget sighed. This was getting exhausting. She waltzed out of the bathroom, naked as the day she was born, and slammed her window shut with a bang. A few things on her desk and on the bookshelves rattled, and she was surprised she'd found that much strength. Then she wilted, and crawled back into bed, still naked, the sheets cool and enveloping her shaking, tiny, _vulnerable_ body. But she felt clean, at least. When her father found her later on before he left for work, he simply gave her a sympathetic look and ran a hand through her hair gently, telling her it was alright for her to just stay home that day. Bridget could've cried with relief.

She would get better. She would get _stronger_.

And she would go to homecoming with Jerry Thompson.

Even though there was someone else.

XXXXX

 **AN: Thank you to all of you again for reading this. Your continued support is everything :)**


	11. The Sorta Blossoming of Cathy Carlson

Chapter 11

 _"I seem to be waiting for something to happen—I've tried not to think because there are so many things that make me feel so exquisitely raw inside_ **Georgia O'Keeffe**

* * *

Evie was waiting. Waiting for her shift to end, waiting for the middle-aged man with the Howdy Doody combed hair and bowling ball paunch that jiggled like Sylvia's stuffed bra to choose between a poinsettia and a bouquet of roses, waiting for her mind to stop spinning. She still couldn't believe it; Bridget Stevens had offered her house to use as a salon.

There had to be a catch. No one ever gave Evie something without expecting a whole shit more in return.

She learned that lesson way back in Junior High. She left her lunch at home and Ted Jones, one of Tim Shepard's hanger ons and an even dumber and more bullheaded version of Curly, if that could be believed; offered her half his peanut butter and butter sandwich. Her stomach growling like an overheated hair dryer, she blew off her pride and accepted Ted's sandwich.

What she didn't accept were Teddy's butter fingers, the ones that reached out like the snarled hands of the blue-haired ladies Evie's mom did manicures for, and grab her boob.

With lightening quick reflexes, Evie punched the little shit across his sunken cheek, his skin instantly turned pink under her knuckles. Evie was too mad to even notice that her own hand stung.

"Give a broad some food and looks how she pays ya," his voice grabbing ownership of the empty partials of air that stood between them.

The lunchtime monitor used all four of her glass encased beady eyes to spy the best TKO since Joe Lewis clobbered Max Schmeling and dragged Evie to the principal's office.

Evie always suspected she was a Nazi sympathizer.

Evie never told anyone that Ted grabbed her, even back then she didn't want them to think that she was that type of gal. A broad. Loose. One of them.

SLUT. BITCH. CUNT. A dictionary of labels that wrapped around east side girls like an over dried towel, itchy and familiar all at the same time.

Those labels stopped only when she became Steve's girl.

They would tell her that Teddy was just being a boy, that she wanted it.

And maybe, Evie thought, her stomach deflating, they were right.

Besides, having her breast fondled at was hardly the worst thing that could happen. She knew that. She heard stories, rumors that spread like sparks in the night.

So, thirteen-year-old Evie Martin sat on the hard wooden chair, staring without expression at the clock that would announce the end of her prison sentence, feeling the plaque of peanut butter still covering her teeth.

It was the way of the world, her mother explained to her. "No one gives something for nothing these days, no such thing as a free lunch, Evie," she tiredly told her eldest daughter one evening, eying the pile of unpaid bills that laid on their kitchen counter to give her words extra weight.

Least the way of the world for working class girls like her.

Girls like her who had to take a job in high school while trying to balance home, school and a personal life. It may be the way of the world, and Evie wanted to fucking hurl at how lopsided it all was.

Evie didn't think of Ted Jones and his hands very often, but a passage from _The Scarlet Letter_ groped through her mind and now, four years later, she could once again feel Ted's hands.

He was the first guy to ever touch her.

Beth had found the passage. Her little sister had an annoying habit of going through Evie's books and trying to find all the dirty words she could.

"Not a whore in sight!" Beth giggled. "Or," she whispered, cupping her hand over her mouth, "the c-word."

Evie rolled her eyes but there was part of her that secretly smiled at Beth's innocence.

Not that Evie held such reservations. Hell, it was the only word that fit some of the gals she knew. And some of the guys, hell let's not beat around the bush, guys like Jerry Thompson and his ilk? Buncha cunts.

The closest Beth found to her beloved whore was _bosom_ , which ain't even a swear word, but whatya expect from some dusty old book written about a million years ago? Shit, did people even swear back then?

"I presume, that her bosom has all the softness and snugness of an eider-down pillow. But she has no great tenderness, even in her best of moods, and, sooner or later,—oftener soon than late,—is apt to fling off her nestlings, with a scratch of her claw, a dab of her beak, or a rankling wound from her barbed arrows." Beth read in a snooty English accent, stretching out the word bosom from an A cup to a Double D cup that would have given Teddy a woody the size of the Empire State Building, "booooosoooommeee."

Evie couldn't remember them swearing in _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ either even though they had a shit lot to cuss about. Of course you couldn't really say dirty words on film or T.V. But maybe people really didn't swear back then?

It made no sense to Evie; books, Miss. Tracy told them while Evie was staring out the window, were insights into the human condition, life in paper form. If that was true, Evie thought, then books should reflect how real people talked and lived their lives.

Screw this mamby pamby 'bosom' junk! Say tits, boobs, jugs.

Holden Caulfield? Yeah, he was more her style. He spoke his mind, talked like a normal person.

He wasn't some phony ass who kept their motivations to themselves.

Speaking of phony asses and a pain in one: Bridget Stevens.

Bridget's words from English class all those weeks ago came roaring back, "you're basically the female Holden Caulfield."

As far as insults go it was lame, hell, even Beth knew how to land a better punch; but it bothered Evie. Evie Martin wasn't no one's fool, and she sure as hell didn't like being made an ass by the new girl. Worse, when Evie glared at Bridget, she didn't even have the decency to meet her gaze, she just looked down, trying to act all coy and demure and shit.

Well, Evie wasn't buying it.

There was only one word for girls like Bridget, girls tried to act like they were the big shit, the girls who linked arms and giggled and talked about people behind their back. Bitch.

Yeah, Evie straightened up, maybe she was a female Holden Caulfield. But what was wrong with that? She wasn't as blunt as Steve who had no filter, but she was never afraid to speak her mind.

As she watched the clock strike the end of her shift Evie straightened up and admired her nails.

Now all she needed to do was find out why that bitch wanted Evie to style her hair.

XXXXX

Cathy stared at the snack shop's dented clock.

There were not enough hours in the day. Between school, her responsibilities at home, her job and now helping Evie with her hair salon, Cathy didn't know how she could fit everything in. How she wished she said no to Evie, how she wished she never opened her big mouth in the first place.

For the 'shy girl' she sure had a knack for getting herself in a heap of trouble.

How the heck was she to know that Evie and Bridget went together like oil and water?

Cathy didn't even want her hair done by Evie in the first place, she only agreed to it because she wanted to take a risk. Well, some risk, now she was in the middle of some bizarre cold war she had no idea even existed.

And now Cathy Carlson knew that she had to pay the piper. If she was having this much trouble balancing everything, what would it be like when she was a Junior or a Senior? What about college?

She was lucky, M&M pulled more than his fair share when it came to babysitting the little kids; and unlike Cathy he didn't look like he wanted to throttle one of the brats after only ten minutes.

Cathy didn't mean to lose her temper, but there was only so much hair pulling, temper tantrums, messy bedrooms and even messier kids that she could take.

Cathy knew her younger siblings preferred M&M to her, and that stung. It stung even more because she knew they were right.

Well, I'm not going to ruminate on it or feel sorry for myself, Cathy thought to herself, while doing exactly that.

"Hey," Evie said in an even voice.

"Hi" Cathy replied, looking up the register. Ever since Cathy agreed to wash hair at Evie's salon, Evie seemed less hostile to Cathy, but she still wasn't friendly.

"You working a late shift too?"

Cathy looked up at the clock, 8:00, her parents didn't like her working so late, but they agreed only because her late shifts were only on weekends. On those nights Cathy's father refused to allow her to take the city bus home, saying that public transportation was no place for a young girl at night.

"Yeah, my dad is picking me up. Do you have a ride? I mean, if you don't we can take you home." Cathy hoped that little peace offering would soften Evie's disposition towards her. Which only made Cathy confused, when did Cathy Carlson care what people thought of her?

Evie shook her head, although she seemed somewhat softened by Cathy's offer, "nah, my boyfriend is picking me up."

Oh yeah, her boyfriend. Cathy remembered Evie and her boyfriend, his hand. She greedily snatched onto the image in her head of Evie and her boyfriend and inhaled it. She had almost forgotten Bridget's promise to find her a date.

"You want a smoke?" Cathy eyed her purse.

"You smoke? No way!" The mention of smoking lit up something in Evie and she let out a cackled snort.

"What's so funny?" Cathy asked defensively. She got it though, she really did. Cathy just looked like a goody two-shoes, the idea of Cathy Carlson smokin' in the girls room was almost as foreign as Dallas Winston on the Homecoming Committee.

"Aww, nothing. You just don't strike me as a smoker." Evie paused. "Nah, I'm good though, thanks."

Cathy nodded, she really wished Evie would have accepted her offer. She really could use a smoke right now.

Cathy said nothing.

Evie said nothing.

Then they both looked at the clock.

Silence.

It was the awkward silence when you feel like you should say something but nothing comes. The awkward silence that makes time rotate backwards.

Evie still looked as cool as ever.

"So, are you a freshman? Don't recall seeing ya around Will Rogers before."

Cathy shrugged," nah, I'm a sophomore, I went to priv-another school my freshman year." Cathy felt uncomfortable telling Evie she went to private school. She hated feeling that way, there was nothing wrong with going to private school and Cathy was proud for being accepted into such a prestigious school.

"Graves Academy, it's a smaller school." She couldn't help but stand up a bit taller, her chin slightly raised until Cathy almost stood taller than Evie. The 'confident, yet friendly poise' of a Graves girl, at least according to the Graves brochure.

But Evie just shrugged, curling her hair on her finger. How did she manage to look so with-it in that ill-fitting hospital uniform? "Never heard of it" she said with disinterest.

Cathy thought about how Bridget and even Vickie seemed impressed when she told them she went to Graves, but Evie couldn't give a damn and Cathy wasn't sure how she felt about it. For the past year her entire identity was tied into being a Graves girl, and even back in Tulsa the name Graves had enough currency to buy Cathy a ticket to the popular girl's circle, at least until they got to know Cathy and couldn't reconcile the mousy, overly serious girl in front of them with the peppy, bright eyed girl who emerged every time Cathy mentioned her old school.

"You still down for washing hair?" Cathy was never really down for it in the first place, but she had made a commitment and Cathy was never one to back away from a promise.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" The edge in her voice almost as sharp as Evie's eyes. If there was one thing Cathy hated, people second guessing her sense of responsibility and duty. Once she made a promise, she was all in.

It was why Cathy hardly ever made promises.

"Just askin'. You know you really put me in some hot shit tellin' Bridget Stevens I was gonna do her hair, now I got at least four or five people on the list to do hair. I figure washing hair is the least you can do."

Cathy, losing her temper with misbehaving siblings aside, was never one quick to lash out, she tended to take a slower approach to things, but Evie Martin was trying every last ounce of patience.

"You could just say no _." Just like Cathy should have said no when Ella first broached the subject of her hair._

Evie scrunched her face and narrowed her eyes and then opened them up wide again, like she was getting use to the morning light after a long night's rest.

She looked almost offended, "no, I can't, I already made a promise to 'em, I and I ain't one to break my fucking promise."

Taken aback, Cathy was momentarily speechless. Maybe Evie's language was a bit crude, heck, she knew her dorm mother at Graves would have had a heart attack if Cathy used the word 'ain't let alone 'fucking' and let's not even talk about what would happen if she came within 3 miles of doing the act; but underneath Evie's sharp tongue and unnecessary swears, Cathy heard the voice of a young woman who had genuine commitment to keeping her promise, who had a sense of responsibility to others.

And maybe just in the faintest of echo, Cathy heard herself.

XXXXX

Cathy Carlson a smoker? Who woulda believed? Evie shook her head. Evie spent only a few minutes with Cathy but the younger girl already threw her for a loop.

Evie thought that maybe she'd been a bit too harsh on Cathy earlier, the idea of getting a chance to try out her styling skills was truly beginning to excite her, but shit like she was gonna apologize.

"So, why'd you want me to do your hair in the first place? I mean, it looks fine and all." It certainly wasn't the messy bushel that Ella Mitchell had or even the tangled tentacles that was Bridget's hair.

Cathy's hair was simple and straight, practically child's play.

Cathy thought of making some quip or giving shallow answer. "I heard from Ella you have a real knack and…"

Cathy decided to get real and so for the first time since she told Ella Mitchell her hair woes all those nights ago, Cathy Carlson opened up to another person.

"I've had the same damn hair style since I was in elementary school and it still doesn't feel like me."

Evie nodded, she got it. She really did. In her own way, Cathy Carlson didn't want to be a phony either.

But all she said was "damn, between your smokin' and cussin' people are gonna think you're a greaser." She winked at Cathy, who said nothing but turned a slight shade of red.

Evie gave her a teasing grin. It wasn't a friendship by a long shot, but it was the blossoming of something.

XXXXX

George Clayton is an idiot. Present Tense.

Vickie Harper came to this sad conclusion after the awkward looking boy dipped Judy Martenero's long braid in the bottle of ink Miss. Wilson kept on her desk back in the 3rd grade. Years later George grew into his looks, but unfortunately the gain in looks was offset by a prodigious loss of brain cells.

It was tragic, really.

Why did the good looking ones always have to be dumb as rocks?

"Why do you care so much about Homecoming?" Vickie had shoved a pile of posters into his hand and ordered the boy to tape them up. At first he asked why she didn't just hang up the posters herself, which only assured Vickie that the boy was deeply, deeply, touched.

"Can you not shake that?" George's voice had a slight worried tone to it, and it took all of Vickie's poise earned from months of Miss. Dawson's Etiquette School not to roll her eyes. He was barely up a few feet. Lord, how would he handle being up on the elevated stage when Vickie and him were crowned Homecoming King and Queen?

If he embarrassed her…

If he ruined her moment…

"Sorry," Vickie said dismissively.

How long did it take to tape some posters up, holy cow, even that dumbest greaser on the planet could finagle his way around a roll of tape better than George Clayton. Did George have a girlfriend? How the hell did he feel her up with his clumsy hands?

At least the greasers came from broken homes to explain their numerous pathologies.

Speaking of…

Like a pus filled pimple before the dance she popped out of nowhere: Evelyn Martin.

Evie was on Vickie's shit list for two reasons, she didn't know her place and she was a bitch. Vickie knew that like the heavy eye shadow greasy girls wore, bitches came in a multitude of shades. There were the queen bees of whom she proudly considered herself a charter member.

Then there were girls like Evie. Greasy girls could be just as cliquish as the Socs, and they looked so trashy doing so. Girls who cackled when they laughed and had sex in the back of cars and wore so much makeup they looked like streetwalkers.

To make matters worse, Evie was walking with Sylvia, a girl so loose Vickie wondered how she could walk upright.

Vickie scanned her eyes down on Sylvia, she figured the girl already had at least two illegal abortions. At least.

God, these greasy girls were so dirty, Vickie could practically smell the salty scent of slut first thing in the morning oozing off Sylvia.

Evie poured her venomous cat eyes onto Vickie's sharp eyes. Well, if Evie wanted to play that game, Vickie would be happy to meet her glare for glare.

"Hey Harper, your tit is showing," Evie said in a loud but no-nonsense tone.

What? Vickie let go of the ladder, sending George hurling towards the earth with a very strong and not AT ALL wimpy scream.

Instinctively, she looked down at her light blue cashmere sweater, the one that so perfectly showed off her blue eyes, and sure enough it was pulled down, exposing a tiny bit of her nipple.

Rage and embarrassment rose within Vickie Harper, not unlike her perked, popped nipple.

But before she had chance to react, before she had a chance to tell the foul mouth greaser exactly what she thought of her, Evie and Sylvia walked away, cackling and smacking their gum in unison.

Still smarting from his brief fall to earth, George Clayton rubbed his calf and looked at Vickie askew.

"See, this is why winning Homecoming is so important, it's about putting girls like Evie in their place." Vickie tugged again on her sweater.

George winced as he pulled himself up and straightened himself out. He was in too much pain to even care about Vickie's breasts although from what he could see, even locked under her sweater, they ginormous. Oh man!

George had no love for Greasers, what was once a mild, annoyed contempt turned into a slow, but intense hatred. The murder of Bob Sheldon turned that simmering hate into an inferno.

Murdered, Bob was murdered, yet all people in this two-bit hick town could talk about was that juvenile delinquent who murdered Bob, made him out to be a hero. How sick was that?

Worse he had to see one of Bob's killers every day in the hallways. Every day he walked past a murderer, and every day a small part of George died.

Didn't they say that time healed all wounds? Well, time was sure taking a slow ass time with this one.

But he didn't see what Homecoming had to do with the greasers. Truthfully unlike some of his friends, George never really saw the big deal in Homecoming or all that rah-rah crap.

"Besides," George continued, "It isn't like girls like Evie even go to Homecoming. Can you imagine Evie on the Homecoming Court?" Despite his still bruised leg and slightly bruised ego, he smirked to himself imaging Evie walking up the dais as a Homecoming nominee.

Not that she would win of course.

"Not that she would win, of course, not against you."

"Well of course she wouldn't win!" Vickie snapped. The cold wind from her mouth was enough to cause her nipples to practically pop out of her sweater like a common greaser.

Evie Martin on Homecoming Court? Could there be any idea as ridiculous?

Evie would be humiliated, just having to walk in front of the entire school, smiling and waving like a beauty queen. Why, that would be horrible for poor Evie, wouldn't it?

Vickie walked away the seed of an idea blossoming in her head.

XXXXX

Ponyboy Curtis swung open the door of the school library, his overdue copy of _David Copperfield_ in his hand, but golly he couldn't help it, he lost track of the due date. The book was over a week late, so there would be a five cent fine to pay, but Pony could hardly care, he was still digesting the words Mr. Syme told him earlier.

Ponyboy Curtis publishing a book?

That was beyond Pony's wildest dreams. Pony wanted to share the stories of his friends with a wider audience, but to possibly be a published author? The thought was overwhelming.

"Hey," Ponyboy recognized the girl with a stack load of books as Cathy Carlson.

"Oh, hi." She had a real bright grin and Pony found himself smiling at her, even though he was s till a bit uncomfortable around cute girls.

And this Cathy girl was cute. Pony hadn't notice it before, but she had a nice face, a cute nose and a really beautiful smile.

Pony tried to think of something to say, but the gift of gab that both Soda and even Darry were blessed with, was not passed down to Pony.

"Got a lot of studying?" He pointed to her pile of books. _Oh man, did he sound like a complete chump._

"No, I mean, yes, but I usually just like to hang out in the library for at least part of my lunch," she quickly added, "I just like the quiet."

Pony thought of the frequent food fights that broke out in the cafeteria, "yeah, it gets pretty loud."

Pony shuffled a bit, when he talked to her earlier the conversation flowed so easily, but now he just felt strange, like everything he was going to say was stupid.

But Cathy just smiled, "not as loud as my house though." She let out a laugh. She turned and walked away, her backside sashaying back and forth as she walked down the hall. Pony felt something rise up in his throat and then he swallowed.

Oh Lord…

XXXXX

Bridget Stevens' heart was in the right place, it usually was, but she had no idea that her kind heart sealed Evie Martin's fate.

"Bridget, honey," Vickie began innocuous enough, which should have been a warning sign for Bridget to run to the hills "I heard you're having that little Evie girl wash your hair?"

Evie was taller than Vickie, but for some reason Vickie called people 'little' when she wanted to demean them, it was one of the nicer arrows in her quiver.

"She's styling it," Bridget said, then, perhaps a little too quickly, she continued "she's supposed to be very good."

"Oh, that's nice," she said in a condescending voice. Then, putting her hand on Bridget's shoulder, she muttered, "have you seen their hair? I mean, talk about slutting it up."

Bridget was shocked, she didn't think of herself as a prude, well, okay she was a bit of prude, her dream of Two-Bit Mathews last night notwithstanding, but she never thought of swearing like Vickie did; at least not in public.

Private?

That was a whole fucking different Bridget Stevens.

"I know that's harsh Bridget, but really have you seen that Sylvia girl who is always hanging around her?"

Bridget hadn't really paid much attention to Sylvia or to well, really anyone, she shook her head no.

"Hmm," Vickie sighed in an almost grave tone of voice, "do you know what those girls do to get attention?

I was putting up my posters for Homecoming and that Evie girl was wearing her blouse so low, I could practically see her nipples. Of course I wasn't trying to, but it was so obvious."

Bridget scrunched up her face, Evie Martin's nipples was not the topic she wanted to be talking about. Ever.

Before she could say anything Vickie continued, "so Bridget it you want that girl to do your hair, that's fine, but just think what people are going to say about you afterwards."

Bridget felt torn, it was odd, Vickie was her friend and Evie wasn't, yet she knew she had to make up for how she treated Evie in class. Sure, an apology would have been easier, but swallowing her pride was never easy for Bridget Stevens.

So now Bridget was getting her hair done by Evie who clearly didn't like Bridget and her friendship with Vickie seemed shakier than ever, a cruel world indeed.

"You're pretty, Bridget," Bridget almost blushed from the surprise, Vickie didn't dole out compliments very often, so when she did they seemed to carry an almost gravitas to them, "just remember who you are."

But who was Bridget Stevens? She was still the new girl at school, the one Two-Bit called Bee, she was, by virtue of her friendship with Cherry and Vickie and those girls, 'popular' but few girls at Will Rogers felt as unmoored or unsteady as Bridget Stevens.

But she was also the girl who had negotiated with Evie, she stood up for herself, even if it didn't comfortable.

"Oh great," Vickie smirked, "it's little Miss. Sunshine." Cathy Carlson was walking towards them. She had on a green jumper and paisley blouse.

"My God," Vickie began, cupping her hand over Bridget's ear, "it looks like a bad dream after watching too much _Romper Room_ and _The Secret Garden._ "

Bridget felt her face grow flush, Vickie could be cruel, and worse, she was making Bridget an unwitting partner in her cruelty. She hated that and she hated that she didn't have the courage to stand up to her, that she still wanted, no, needed, her friendship.

"Cathy!" Vickie called out with a sunny greeting.

Cathy Carlson rolled her eyes. She couldn't stand Vickie Harper.

What surprised Cathy was seeing Bridget Stevens with Vickie. They seemed to always be together, in the cafeteria, in the hallways.

Cathy couldn't believe that the girl who gushed with her over the Beatles was the same girl who was bosom buddies with the like of Vickie Harper.

Maybe Cathy had judged Vickie wrong? Cathy knew that she could be a bit blunt, though she preferred to think of herself as honest, thank you very much, and well, Cathy could be quite judgmental of others. Maybe Vickie was a lot nicer once you got to know her?

Or maybe it was Bridget Stevens she judged wrong?

Like a prisoner on her way to the electric chair, Cathy walked towards Vickie. Bridget looked awfully uncomfortable, and Cathy wondered what she did. Was Bridget upset that Cathy never told her she preferred to go by Cathy rather than Catherine?

It would be a pretty dumb reason to be upset at someone, but Cathy couldn't figure out why Bridget was barely making eye contact with her.

"How was the library?" Vickie asked benignly.

Cathy shrugged, even though Vickie's tone was friendly enough she couldn't help but pick up on the judgment laced in her comments, like there was something wrong going to the library for lunch.

"Fine."

"Oh, by the way, that is such a cute outfit you have on, it's like a garden party come to life! It's so springy. You have such a cute little fashion sense. I love it." Vickie said in a perky tone.

Cathy looked down at her jumper, she liked the colors, the greens and pinks, she didn't look as good in greens and pinks as she did yellow, but she though the outfit was cute. She also couldn't help but notice the heavy sarcasm weeded beneath the flowery veneer of Vickie's sweet words.

She crossed her arms in front of her, and she thought Bridget gave her a sympathetic smile. She turned to Bridget, "I talked to Evie at work, and I suggested that if it works for you we all meet this weekend, maybe at your place to set everything up and go through all of our scheduling."

"Your house?" Vickie gave a pointed look at Bridget and Bridget wished Cathy's blouse really was a secret garden she could escape into.

"Yes, I think I'm going to allow Evie to do her hair styling at my place," a thought bolted through Bridget's brain, "I mean, it would be a lot easier to have her come to me than to go all the way to the east side."

Vickie nodded, that almost made sense to her.

Cathy tugged at her arm. She felt small the way Bridget said 'the east side' in a tone both full of dismissal and fear.

The east side, that's where she was from. Cathy may not dress like Evie or Sylvia or thank God, Angela Shepard, she did have morals, but she wasn't a rich girl, or even middle class.

Her family struggled to pay the bills, her father's salary barely stretching to feed nine mouths.

What type of girl did Bridget think she was?

XXXXX

Vickie Harper couldn't believe it; did Bridget have any idea the kind of trash that would pour through her home? She could just imagine the neighbors reacting to seeing Evie Martin and that slimy boyfriend of hers drive through their neighborhood in a souped up car.

Could you get any more ridiculous?

She hoped they had more cops driving through the neighborhood there was no telling what they were capable of.

But though she wouldn't have admitted it, something stung about Bridget's decision to allow Evie not only to style her hair but use her house as a salon. For some reason, Bridget seemed to want Evie to like her.

Vickie thought of the crude, short skirt girl. This was the type of girl Bridget wanted to associate with?

A strong urge pulsated through Vickie's mind; she wanted to see Evie humiliated. She wanted to see Dallas, and Two-Bit and all of their nasty friends humiliated. But how?

With the way that girl dressed and talked it would be hard to humiliate her more than she humiliated herself.

She thought of starting a rumor about Evie, maybe even something about her and that Winston guy. But Vickie shook her head, no that was too easy, besides everyone knew those girls were all a bunch of tramps and proud of it. If anything Evie would wear it as a badge of honor.

No, Vickie saw herself as a pioneer when it came to humiliating others, boldly going where no one dared tread before.

The key to humiliating Evie was not to call her loose, but to really make her uncomfortable and what would make a girl like Evie uncomfortable? Being on Homecoming Court.

Yes that was it. Rig the nominating ballots to get Evie Martin on Homecoming Court, she wouldn't win of course, but her friends would all think was a traitor and all of the Soc kids would hate her for not staying in her place.

Well, Evie deserved it, trying to get her too fast hands all over Bridget. There were lines and boundaries you didn't cross.

Payback was a bitch, but, Vickie thought with a thorn laced smile, so am I.

XXXXX

Miss. Tracy caused quite a stir when she started at Will Rogers, the school's beatnik. What the parents and teachers of Will Rogers failed to realize was that the real rebel on staff, the real iconoclast was the sweet, middle aged slightly off-kilter, Mrs. Dick Girdlé.

So when the sweet woman who drank nothing stronger than coffee with one cream and one sugar, decided to teach a unit on Georgia O'Keeffe no one could possibly believe that Shirley Girdlé, for all of her art training and talents, truly knew the subtext message underneath many of O'Keeffe's paintings.

But she knew. She knew.

XXXXX

A thousand sweaty runners pumped their legs through the tangled obstacle course that Cathy Carlson called her heart. Or, that's how it felt to her.

Their weekend art assignment stood propped up against her closed bedroom door. She looked at O'Keeffe flower painting; she was supposed to write a small essay on it.

She had her record player on, it helped her think. The Blue Diamonds' " _Cathy's Clown_ " filled the room. She wasn't crazy about the song, but lying on her bed, she was too lazy to find a better record.

She tried to think of what to write about.

But how much could you say about a flower?

She squinted her eyes, trying to find something different, something that she could write about. Then, she noticed the folds of yellow, blue, purple and the tiny black space in the middle the rose color petal which emerged from the depth.

There was something so familiar about it, although Cathy hadn't seen the painting before. But then she realized that the painting looked familiar not because she saw it before, but because she felt it.

Holy shit, Mrs. G. was having them study pictures of vaginas!

How could Cathy not notice it before? It was right underneath her eyes.

She knew that Bridget and Pony were in a different art class, she wondered if Pony was studying paintings of vaginas as well? The thought filled her with a strange sensation. Lordy! How could she even imagine? Her cheeks turned flush. What an embarrassing thought!

She thought of his sharp green-grey eyes, eyes that seemed sharper than teeth. Then she thought of his white teeth cutting into her lips. And yet, it didn't hurt. Her lips were soft and wet, her mouth open.

Not even Mike made her feel like this.

She stared at the vagina painting. She closed her eyes, imagined the smooth glide of her finger but then her finger became Ponyboy's finger. She shivered. The thought made her feel dirty and uncomfortable.

She contracted her muscles and tried to focus on the painting of Jesus with four children of different races that Grandma Baker had given her as a child.

But her eyes kept on zipping back to the vagina and her mind kept on zipping back to Pony's invisible fingers.

Why was her heart beating so fast? What was this electric surge she felt deep inside? She felt as if her lower part was warm and tingly. She felt it move against her bed sheet, beads of sweat dripped down Cathy's face.

What the hell?

And then she felt her hand slowly lift her garden jumper up, her hand was warm and slightly sweaty as she pulled down her panties to just below her knees.

She pressed a finger in, wincing as she felt it slowly open up.

* * *

Thank you for reading! We don't own anything. :)


	12. God Help the Girls

" _ **Dear God," she prayed, "let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad. Let me be cold; let me be warm. Let me be hungry...have too much to eat. Let me be ragged or well dressed. Let me be sincere - be deceitful. Let me be truthful; let me be a liar. Let me be honorable and let me sin. Only let me be something every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost."**_ ― **Betty Smith,** _ **A Tree Grows in Brooklyn**_

* * *

Ella had heard an ugly rumor, one so ugly, in fact, that it made her stomach turn in on itself until she actually felt sick. Now, Bridget Stevens wasn't exactly a friend of Ella's, not quite anyway, but Ella had a certain fondness for the raven-haired girl, much like she had for both Cathy Carlson and Evie Martin, so the rumor circulating that Jimmy Hopper and Two-Bit Mathews had started in on Bridget during one of their classes, along with the fact that apparently Jimmy had let it slip that Two-Bit hated Bridget, made Ella feel absolutely terrible.

She had only seen Bridget in English class, but for the past two days, the girl had looked mildly off, and Ella wondered if something was wrong. She wouldn't ask, though, no way would she dare. Even though she was fond of Bridget and thought she was nice in her own way, Ella was too shy to sound like she was prying into the other girl's personal affairs.

She tried desperately to focus on her painting of Cathy Carlson later that afternoon while she sat in the library for study hall―it was nearly completed, just a few more colors that needed to be added in, and maybe she needed to fix the wave that was rising a little too high for her preference, and―

"Ella?"

The brown-haired girl jerked around, cheeks flushed. Speak of the devil. "Hi, Cathy!"

"What are you doing here?" The question was innocent, but Cathy's brows were arched, a curious look plastered across her face.

"Study hall," the older teen mumbled out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "What about you?"

"Oh," Cathy chuckled. "Apparently, Mrs. Reynolds, my English teacher, fell short two copies of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ for our class this period, so here I am, the lucky pick to come and retrieve two more." A sigh escaped her lips. "I like Mrs. Reynolds and all, but sometimes she just―"

"Drones?" Ella guessed, trying not to smirk.

Cathy nodded. "Yeah, exactly."

"I had her last year," she divulged. "She was always repeating herself."

"Oh my goodness, she still does," the younger girl said, stifling a laugh. And then her eyes drifted up to the clock. "Well, I'd better get her those copies before she thinks I took off or something." As she stared at Ella, though, a smile crossed her lips. "Hey, you want to sit together at lunch?"

And Ella's lips curved upward at the question. "I'd like that."

XXXXX

"Would you fucking quit that?"

"What?"

Dallas glared at Two-Bit. "Quit rockin' the table. Jesus Christ, one might think you had to take a piss or something." Silence. The table shifted. " _What the fuck?"_

Truth be told, Two-Bit wasn't exactly in the brightest of spirits, but he wasn't about to let it show. Thing was, Dallas was getting on his nerves, but he'd likely not be clobbered over the head, so he decided to stop bouncing his knee. The two greasers were sitting outside of the cafeteria with the nomination sheets for homecoming, bored expressions on both of their faces. Two-Bit had been the one who was actually assigned the job, and Dallas wasn't quite sure how the fuck he got roped into it, too, but here they were―Dallas two seconds away from strangling Two-Bit, and Two-Bit two seconds away from calling it quits on the entire thing.

But before the red-headed teen could even make up his mind, a group of girls made their way over to the table, suspicious looks in their eyes as they skimmed over Dallas. Two-Bit couldn't blame them, though, not exactly. Hell, greaser girls were always trying to get into Dallas's pants, but Soc girls were too scared to even make eye contact with the blond-headed hood.

"Howdy, ladies!" Two-Bit greeted, sitting up in the chair. He grinned, elbowing Dallas in the gut to get his attention. Hell, if he had to be all giddy and upbeat, so did his buddy, which meant that he would repeat himself a little louder to gain the attention of the hood beside him. "I said, howdy, ladies!"

The girls were already reaching for sheets to check off, but Two-Bit's plan of getting Dallas to play nice didn't exactly go that well. The blond shot him a cool glare, before stomping his boot-clad foot down on the older boy's, which caused him to leap forward out of his chair, sending the table out in the direction of the girls. In all the commotion, a few of the papers went flying, the girls shrieked as they backed away, and Dallas smirked at Two-Bit, whose hand was covering the area below his stomach, his face red in agony from where his southern regions, otherwise known as the most sensitive area of his body, had made contact with the ledge of the table.

"Fuck you, Winston," he said, sounding exasperated, face twisted and screwed up.

The blond shrugged. "Serves ya right, you fucking idiot."

And even though he was in pain, Two-Bit gathered up the fallen papers, placing them back on the table beside the ballot box. He eyed Dally critically, before sliding his chair a few inches away from him, an annoyed expression taking over his features, that was, until a name caught his attention on the papers, one that was a little _too_ familiar―Evelyn Martin.

"What's your problem?" Dally asked, noticing Two-Bit's shift in mood, other than the fact that his manhood had previously battled the edge of the table only a moment prior.

Two-Bit squinted. "Look'it here, Dal."

The blond seemed unfazed as he glanced at the name Two-Bit was showing him. "Who the fuck is Evelyn Martin?"

"Evie, Steve's girlfriend," he pointed out, sounding perturbed. "How the hell did she make the nominee list?" And then a certain person crossed his mind, a certain blond-head she-devil, although he couldn't exactly put two and two together, not then at least, but he was sure that Vickie Harper had something to do with it.

Dallas frowned. "Evelyn? Sounds like a fucking fairy name."

"Oh, Dal, hush up," he replied, shaking his head with a wry grin. "You look like one."

"How about another―"

"O-kay!" Two-Bit exclaimed, holding his hands up. "No need to be touchy, Dal." And then his focus returned to the papers. "I wonder if Steve knows about this."

The blond's brows pressed together, his lips pursed. "Who the hell knows . . ."

But Two-Bit was already formulating plans of his own, and he was going to let Dallas in on them, too, and soon. Oh, glory, but just when things were starting to get boring, something juicy had to present itself, and the red-headed teen couldn't be more anxious. He didn't have proof that Vickie Harper or her crowd was behind Evie's name being on the slips, but he was going to make sure that whatever the witch was up to backfired right in her crooked little face.

He smirked as another group of girls approached the table. "Now, don't y'all be putting one down for that Harper gal. You don't want no plastic jugs representing ya at homecoming, do ya?" He winked, a devious smile planted on his lips.

Two could play this game.

XXXXX

"Hey, Ella!"

The brown-haired teen came to an abrupt stop it in the hallway, looking around for the person who had called her name out. She instantly relaxed when she saw Evie making her way toward her, a grim expression on her otherwise perfected features. Ella immediately felt herself clamming up―she really didn't want to know what else could possibly be wrong that day.

"Evie," she greeted, almost sounding solemn, but the tone of her voice went unnoticed by the darker haired girl beside her, as she was too engrossed in her own issues.

Evie responded bluntly. "Okay, so now I've got five girls for hair." At Ella's perplexed look, she simply continued on. "Well, Angela Shepard"―She shook her head―"decided that she wants her hair done, too. Can you believe that bitch?" Not waiting for an answer, Evie kept going, her voice becoming more and more bitter. "And Joan Platten wants in, too." A huff. "You still keeping track of this?"

The shorter girl wanted to sigh, really she wanted to roll her eyes, too. "Yes, Evie. I had three, but now five, girls for hair, four for nails, which includes Jenny Arsele, Angela Shepard, Angela's friend Peggy Nichols, and myself, and well, everyone wants their brows done, too."

Evie's eyes went stark wide at that new information. "All of them?" Ella couldn't be serious, could she? Good Lord. Well, it wasn't like Evie wasn't any good at tweezing brows, hell, she was better than her own mother, but all of them? Or were there others? "Who?"

"For brows?" Ella asked, clarifying. "Um, Jenny, Peggy, some girl named Rebecca, and another friend that Sylvia wanted me to tell you about." She could sense Evie's impatience, so she hurried up about relaying Sylvia's message from earlier that morning. "Sylvia said her friend, Shelia Winters, wanted to know if she could get her brows done, so Sylvia―"

"Told her to hop right in?" Evie guessed. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. "Sometimes, I swear Sylvia is my friend just to drag me through hell with her." She sighed, and the pair began walking again. "Alright, so, I've got―"

Ella cut in. "Five for hair, four for nails, and five for brows."

"So, there's one spot left open for nails, then."

"Yup."

Oh, glory, Evie was going to need to make a list, wasn't she? Well, then again, that was what Ella was for. At that particular moment, Evie decided that she was thankful for the bushy haired girl beside her; Lord knows she couldn't have managed all of that by herself. Ella was more . . . organized, unlike her, but that was okay, because things balanced out. Plus, she had Cathy Carlson on hair washing, and . . . and, ugh―just saying her name, or thinking it, caused a nasty taste to form in her mouth―Bridget Stevens's house to work at.

Right.

So, altogether― Stevens would have . . . wait, what the hell had Ella said? Evie inwardly cringed and made a mental note to ask Ella to relay all of that to her again later. Of course, they would have to tell Bitchy Bridget that they would need to use her house for two days―Friday night for nails and brows, and Saturday afternoon for hair. Oh, Evie couldn't wait to see the look on Bridget's stuck-up little face when these girls arrived at her house―oh, that was going to be something worth basking in―the joy of it all was actually something to look forward to!

Evie and Ella headed into the bathroom, both girls grateful that it was their lunch period. Ella had plans to meet up with Cathy, and Evie would be heading out to see Steve. Well, there was one thing to really just dampen her spirits―her boyfriend's reaction when he got wind of this. Evie knew that he wouldn't take too kindly to hearing that she would be using Bridget Stevens's house for her business for two days come next week.

"Have you talked to Stevens at all?" Evie asked, facing Ella as the two came to a stop in front of the sinks. Evie began digging through her cosmetic bag to powder her nose. "You know, I ain't sure this chick really knows what she's in for, and just wait until everyone else finds out where they're going to get their hair and nails done." She smirked. "She probably lives in some huge ass house. Probably has roller coasters in it or something."

Ella felt bad listening to Evie talk like that. Of course, the idea of a roller coaster being in somebody's house was somewhat silly, and she cracked a small smile. On the other hand, Ella was reminded of the rumor she'd heard that morning, and her stomach turned again, causing her to feel bad for even smiling at Evie's words.

"Maybe," was all she said, her gaze landing on the floor. Her teeth pressed together as her eyes landed on something in the corner by the garbage can―was that a . . . bug? Gross. "I haven't talked to Bridget yet, though," she added thoughtfully. "But we're definitely going to―"

" _We?_ " Evie repeated, a sharp and feral look in her brown orbs. "You mean _you_."

Ella's expression twisted. "You, too, Evie." Even though her voice was direct, her expression was still one of sheer intimidation; Ella wasn't used to standing up for herself. "I mean, she was nice enough to offer her house up to you, and―" The girl quickly shut her trap at the sound of the back stall opening, and both girls were meant with the sight of Bridget Stevens herself. "Bridget," Ella went to say, but the dark-haired girl spoke instead.

"It's okay," she said, sounding as upset as she appeared. "You can bring as many people as you want for your business. I don't mind." But, she told herself, there was some part of her that did mind, that was unsure of how she truly felt about this entire situation. "Just give me a head's up."

Evie, though, quirked a perfect eyebrow. "So, what now, Stevens? You enjoy hiding out in the stalls or something?"

Bridget scowled, but her green eyes were still filled with worry. "No. I was just―"

But luckily for her, the door to the bathroom opened up and in walked Cathy Carlson, a surprised look taking over her face as her gray eyes shifted between the trio. It was almost interesting, as Cathy had only ever seen the girls one on one and never together like this. And what a coincidence that she had just walked in at the appropriate time. What was this, some sort of secret meeting or something? Cathy wasn't exactly shy about things, not overly anyway, so she took it upon herself to break the silence.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked, though she didn't sound worried at all.

Ella shook her head, thankful for Cathy's arrival. She didn't want to be between the ominous feud that was still ongoing with Evie and Bridget, so she hoped Cathy's presence, alongside hers, could ease some of the tension circulating them.

"We were just about to figure out how we were going to go about using Bridget's house for the business," Ella stated, hoping she didn't sound as off as she felt.

"And I was just telling Evie that she could have as many people use her services at my house for as long as she needed," Bridget continued, also glad for Cathy's appearance.

Evie's mouth practically dropped at the usage of Bridget's words, and apparently, Bridget realized a little too late how awful they had sounded. Oh, Lord, now she had done it, hadn't she? Why was everything going wrong for her that day? Ugh. Why couldn't she just have one good day where nothing went wrong? Where Vickie wasn't riding her ass about taking care of her issues, where Jimmy Hopper wasn't nagging her, and―

Cathy snorted, and across the bathroom, Ella began silently laughing. Evie and Bridget stared at each other for a few seconds or so, before Evie jerked back around, eyeing herself in the mirror, the only sound other than Cathy's and Ella's laughter being the crack of her blush dropping onto her other items in the bag.

"Oh, laugh it up, both of you," she said, clearly irked. However, there was a slight curve in her lips. "So now that we've established that"―She glared back at Bridget―"Ella's got the list of everyone, and what's going on, and with that, we'll be needing your house Friday evening and Saturday afternoon."

Bridget nodded. "Fine. That's fine." Was it, though? "Just . . . how many people?"

Evie licked her lips, shooting a glance at Ella. The brown-haired girl looked just as off as Bridget, and across from them, Cathy's eyes flickered between them. Oh, good Lord, she couldn't help but feel some sympathy for Bridget―at least she would only be washing four sets of hair, including Bridget's and Ella's. Obviously, Evie would end up doing hers, so who was the other girl's hair that Cathy was washing?

Ella did the math in her head. "Well, altogether . . . um, Friday night is nails and brows, so we have, five for brows and four for nails, but three of the same girls are getting their nails done, so seven, plus us four, but I included myself for nails, so that's still seven." She cleared her throat awkwardly, but still maintained a firm countenance. "And Saturday afternoon for hair should be us four plus Angela Shepard, Jenny Arsele, and Joan Platten, so including us, seven again."

Bridget visibly relaxed. Seven girls for both days wasn't bad, especially when the four of them made up the majority. Still, standing by the the door, Cathy was internally boiling. Angela Shepard? _The Angela Shepard?_ No way on God's green Earth was she washing that bitch's hair. No, no, and no again. Not happening. Sorry. Wrong number. Goodbye.

"Are you okay with that, Cathy?"

The short-haired girl's gaze lifted in the direction of Ella's timid voice. No, she was not okay with it, well, just having Angela Shepard around. But no, she wasn't. "Yeah, sure."

"So, it's all settled then," Evie clarified, crossing her arms. "Well, Stevens, last thing is, none of us have ever seen your house or nothin', so―"

"Why don't you stop by after school today?"

The other three girls all looked at each other, surprised expressions on each of their faces. Bridget was actually inviting them to her house? Her house on the West side of town? Holy moly, but Evie had never set foot on the West side of town, nor had Ella, and Cathy hadn't ventured too far into Soc territory, either. There was a silence that past, one that oozed intense discomfort. Well, they knew that they would be working there next Friday evening and Saturday afternoon, so why was it such a big deal now? Or maybe it was because Bridget Stevens had outright invited them . . .

Evie was staring at Bridget hardly, wondering if she was serious or not. Well, she ought to be―they _would_ be at her house next week, wouldn't they? Duh. But Evie was sniffing a small challenge in the raven-haired girl's voice, one that was completely subtle and probably went unheard by Ella and Cathy, not that it mattered. Bridget, though, was watching Evie more carefully than the other girls, primarily because she was conflicted over her own feelings of guilt along with the crave for absolution.

Then again, Evie's own hurtful remark about Jerry Thompson the other week had made her inwardly cringe―Ugh, limp dicks, Jerry Thompson, limp dicks . . . Why had Evie said that? Bridget would never look at spaghetti noodles the same way again. Okay, but Bridget was trying to _apologize_ to Evie, really she was, but why couldn't she just find the _words_? Why was it so difficult?

Maybe one day she would find the right words, but for now, she had to contend with seven girls showing up at her house for two days come next week. What had she gotten herself into?

But it was decided right then that Ella would pick Cathy and Evie up after her shift from work, and the trio would make the drive to Bridget's house, the one on the West side of town . . . in Soc territory, the one that could probably fit each of their houses into it together at once . . . the one that Evie thought had roller coasters built inside of it . . .

Oh, glory.

XXXXX

Steve wasn't happy―not at all.

His eyes were fixated on his girlfriend, _his stubborn girlfriend_ , who had so kindly just informed him that she was taking a ride to Bridget Stevens's house later that afternoon with Ella Mitchell and some girl named Cathy Carlson. He didn't mind the Ella chick; as far as he had heard, she was a real dopey broad, probably missing a few screws or something (Dallas's words), and he had only heard Cathy's name from Evie once or twice, but either way, he was _not_ okay with Evie going to a Soc's house―a fucking Soc!

And the cunt who had made a snide remark about her, no less. Good grief. Steve wanted to shake Evie hard, ask her what the hell her deal was, if she was losing her mind or something. But with the way she was glaring up at him, he didn't budge. It didn't matter what he had to say, because Evie had made her mind up, and there was no fighting. For fuck's sake.

"I don't like this," he said, lighting a cigarette.

"I know, Steve," Evie bit back, pursing her lips. "I don't like it either, but this business will help me get some dough, so just hush up."

Steve glared at her coolly. "Yeah, and just where is your little group now?" He exhaled sharply. "I mean, Jesus Christ, Evie, are they all Socs now?"

Evie was sucking on the inside of her cheek. The only Soc in the group was Bridget Stevens, but as much as Evie didn't like her, she was beginning to question if Bridget really was a Soc after all. There was something different about her, but Evie's dislike over a snide comment made a few weeks back wouldn't let her delve deeper into it any further.

"They're eating in the cafeteria, Steve," she finally answered, gritting her teeth. Yeah, because fucking Vickie Harper had invited Cathy and Ella to sit with her and Bridget, _not her_ , not that she ever would sit anywhere near that blond-headed barbie.

Steve rolled his eyes.

XXXXX

Ella was so uncomfortable, _so unbelievably uncomfortable_ , that she felt sick to her stomach. She was a loner, a hermit almost, but she could handle people when she was out and about. There was a very large exception, though, one which applied for people like Vickie Harper. Okay, so being surrounded by Cathy and even Bridget made her feel somewhat better, but with Vickie's sharp eyes dancing over in her direction every few seconds, Ella began to feel nauseous.

"So," Vickie began, a facade of happiness laced in her voice, "Ella, right?"

Ella nodded. "And you're Vickie."

Vickie looked almost appalled that Ella wasn't familiar with her. "Yes, Vickie Harper. So, Ella, tell me, you're dating Craig Bryant?"

"Well, no, not exactly," she answered, vague like. "We're just attending homecoming together."

"And you're friends with Evelyn Martin?" She shook her head, and then winked. "Oh, right. I forgot, you're _all_ friends with her now." Her gaze shifted toward Bridget, who looked as though she was beginning to sink lower into her chair. "So what's this about a salon business I hear?"

Cathy, noticing Ella's discomfort, spoke up. "It's a great idea, actually. Evie is real good at what she does, and well, it's not _technically_ a business, but we're helping her out either way."

The blond hummed, eyeing the four girls critically. She couldn't fathom it, any of it. Bridget didn't mix with these two other girls, and they certainly didn't blend well with the likes of Evelyn Martin. From what she could tell, Ella and Cathy were middle class girls, and whether or not they got caught up in the social class divide would say a lot about them based on which side they picked. Vickie was more than determined to not let Ella Mitchell make a fool out of Craig Bryant by associating herself with the likes of Evelyn Martin, and she was going to make sure that she didn't lose Bridget, either. She wasn't sure about Cathy, but she knew the younger girl didn't like her, not by a long shot.

So who would it be, then?

She could go after Ella, she decided, since that little ditz was the one who was becoming Evelyn's sidekick―probably thought the sun shined straight out of her asshole, too. Plus, Ella was meddling her way into Vickie's crowd anyway―Craig was the best friend, aside from Bob Sheldon, of George Clayton. And then there was Bridget, who was already part of them by default, so if she even thought about copping out, she would get tossed into a void of emptiness―no one would associate with her. So Vickie figured Bridget was safe for the time being. And then there was Cathy, Miss Sunshine, who was too assertive and analytical. Vickie didn't like her. She didn't care for Ella, but she―Vickie decided Ella was Miss Ditz―would be the perfect candidate for getting her what she wanted.

Perfect. Miss Ditz was it, then. Now, she would just have to figure out a way to get her information from the girl. She needed to know what was going on with that salon, and she was going to make sure that Evelyn understood that she hadn't just been relaying a message to her a few weeks back. Oh, no, she wasn't looking out for her―she was warning her.

Vickie grinned as she listened to Cathy ramble on about how great Evelyn Martin was, but she didn't care about any of that. Nope. Oh, Evelyn could have her fun all she wanted―for now. Vickie couldn't wait until the night of homecoming. Little Miss Martin was in for a little surprise, one that would humiliate her so bad she would hightail it out of the school with her tail between her legs like the pathetic creature she was.

Yes, she thought, shooting a devilish glance at Ella, and then Cathy, and then Bridget, her thoughts focused on Evelyn.

God help the girls.

XXXXX

Evie was more or less collected about paying Bridget Stevens's house a visit. Or, wait, no―she was paying _Bridget_ a visit. Oh, glory, she was actually internally a bit nervous about seeing the girl's house, but she would never, under any circumstances, admit that to anyone. No way. As she watched the scenery pass by out the back window of Mrs. Mitchell's Impala, she felt her heart beginning to flutter around the nicer it became―every second they drew nearer to the Soc's stomping grounds. Lord, Evie could practically smell the wealth from inside the vehicle.

She sneaked a glance at Cathy, who was sitting in the passenger seat, taking in the younger girl's look of uncertainty, except, where Evie was more stunned, Cathy seemed more like she was observing her whereabouts. Ella expressed more apathy than anything, like she didn't care about where they were going, or to whose house they were visiting.

After a few minutes, Ella stopped the car in front of a rather large, white plantation looking house, and Evie's jaw nearly hit the floor as she stared at it in utter amazement. Well, then, her thoughts hadn't been that far off, had they? Nope―Bridget Stevens lived in a mansion, or a museum. All three girls were expressing the same looks of awe, and Evie could only imagine what the likes of Angela, Jenny, Peggy, Rebecca, and Sheila would think when they arrived next week.

Evie leaned forward and plucked Ella's shoulder. "There's definitely a roller coaster in there."

Cathy's eyes were broad, her gray irises full of wonder. " _This_ is Bridget's house?"

Ella nodded, lips parted ever so slightly. "Uh-huh."

It took a few seconds before the girls moved, but they climbed out of the car and headed toward the door, each feeling rather intrigued, or skeptical, or awestruck. Cathy rang the doorbell, and Evie crossed her arms, wishing she had a cigarette. Beside her, Ella folded her hands together in front of herself, a blank look on her face.

A man answered the door a moment later, and Evie's brows raised to the heavens above. Well, if she wasn't at all impressed with the Stevens' household, Bridget's father―Was this her father?―was shocking, to say the least, well, more professional than any of her friend's fathers that she had met in the past. This man was dressed professionally, not crazy overdressed or anything, but he definitely gave of the airs of somebody who was . . . comfortable, and laid back.

"You must be Bridget's friends," he said, opening the door wider to let them in. "I'll get her." He gave them a smile before calling for his daughter.

"Coming, Daddy," came the response, and Evie snickered.

Cathy was eating the shit out of this place―her eyes darting in every which way. But unlike Evie, and even Ella, she looked comfortable, not like she belonged, but like she could. Ella, though, looked a little sad, or off, and Evie's brows drew together as she wondered why. And then it dawned on her―Ella didn't have a father in her life. Her old man had split when she was little or something, so it was only her and her mother. Evie couldn't understand that, not fully, because she had both of her parents, like Cathy did. Well, she supposed, she was used to Steve, who only had his dad―his mother was out of the picture, too.

Bridget came down the steps clad in a pair of casual jeans and a fuzzy pink sweater, her stocking covered feet sliding a little once she hit the main floor. Evie took in her appearance, wondering if this was all some kind of joke. Holy shit.

"Hi, guys," she greeted carefully, glancing at her father once.

Ella responded first. "Hi, Bridget." She offered the girl a smile. "Thanks for inviting us."

"Your house is immaculate," Cathy stated with a wide grin. "Really."

Bridget flushed. "Thanks." And then she seemed to remember her father standing there. "Daddy, this is Ella, Evie, and Catherine. We're . . . working on a project together for school." Well, it wasn't a complete lie, but Evie smirked nonetheless.

"Nice to meet you girls," he said, and glancing back at his daughter, took that as his cue to leave. He told them that he would be around should they need him, and gave them one last smile before taking his leave, walking back to a room that resembled an office.

Evie let her eyes wander around, taking in the interior of the house. It was ginormous, there was no doubt about that. There was a dining room to the right of where they stood, and a spacious kitchen just up ahead. Evie wasn't sure, but it looked like a powder room to the opposite side beside what appeared to be the living room, and to the left of them, was another room, one that had a piano in it. Evie was amazed by everything―she was actually a bit excited to see Bridget's room.

"So, um, I was thinking, we could do hair and everything in the kitchen," Bridget stated. "And maybe nails and stuff on the porch, weather permitting."

Evie nodded. "Sounds good, Stevens." Yup, this house would definitely provide them with everything they needed, plus the room there was to maneuver around was fantastic. Evie would never say it, but she was actually grateful that Bridget had offered her house up for this. "And your _daddy_ ain't gonna mind?" She smirked.

Bridget bit her lip. "I told him we were working on a project. He might not even be here those nights, so he doesn't . . . exactly . . ."

"Know?" Cathy guessed. "What's your dad do for a living?"

Bridget smiled a little, but it didn't reach her eyes. "He's a professor."

"Speaking of which," Ella said, her eyes drifting back toward Dr. Steven's office where the door was still cracked.

"Oh, right," Bridget said, and invited them up to her room.

Evie took in every detail of Bridget's house, from the grand stairs, to the large opening upstairs, to the three rooms―one of which was a library―and then Bridget's room, which was overly pink, so pink in fact, that Evie thought the girl might as well become a part of it in her pink sweater. The bedding was pink, the walls were pink, she had a princess bed―Oh good Lord! Jesus Christ, Bridget just might as well have been pink. She even had a phone, _her own phone_ , in her bedroom. Evie was . . . oh no she wasn't, she _couldn't_ be, but she was. Oh, she was actually jealous.

Ella's eyes were fixated on Bridget's collection of music while Cathy was taking in the girl's shelves of books. Bridget didn't look proud, though. In fact, she looked awkward, and Evie actually took pride in that―she _should_ feel weirded out for once, even if this was her territory.

For the next several minutes, Ella and Cathy gushed over Bridget's room, and then Bridget herself had began talking to them about her music collection―The fucking Beatles of all things―and then they went on about her books, and then back to The Beatles, and who was their favorite, and what their favorite song was, and Evie was growing agitated.

"What kind of music do you like, Evie?" Bridget asked, breaking her train of thought.

And Evie's eyes widened. "Well, I _don't_ dig The Beatles. I like The Supremes." Well, she did―they weren't her favorite group or anything, but she liked them enough, and it was the first group that had come to mind.

Bridget smiled, thumbed through some of her 45's, and handed Evie one of them. The other girl looked down, a smile brushing her lips at "Baby Love." She liked that song.

For the next hour, the four girls discussed music, books, boys, and clothes, and even though Evie had felt a little not included, she eventually joined in once they moved on to hair and cosmetics and fashion and accessories . . . and Evie finally found herself chatting away in her environment with these girls, girls who were so different and yet so strangely alike.

As she glanced at them each sitting on Bridget's pink princess bed, taking in their appearances―her own short skirt and tight blouse, heels that were maybe an inch too high, brunette hair sprayed to perfection and makeup just right; Ella with her bushy hair that was crazy-long, barely any makeup on her face at all, and her skirt that stopped just above her ankles with her dark turtleneck; Cathy and her casual look, baggy pants and nice sweater, her straight and short hair; Bridget with her wild black hair that was everywhere, and her own casual countenance―Evie smiled.

What none of them knew was that each of them had forgotten their own troubles. Evie had forgotten that she actually thought Bridget was a bitch, Ella had forgotten about her tutoring troubles with Dallas Winston, Cathy forgot about being so juggled between work, school, and her home life, and Bridget had forgotten about Jimmy Hopper's words to her that morning along with Two-Bit Mathews hating her.

Four sets of eyes were bright and laughing.

One green, one blue, one brown, and one gray.

But they were all bright.

XXXXX

Ella and Evie sat outside of Evie's house that night. Ella was in higher spirits, and even Evie, who was smoking a long awaited cigarette, seemed to be in a better mood as well. Ella was surprised that the night had gone so well―they were officially on for next week. Still, Ella actually found herself excited for something, really excited, and she could tell that Evie was beginning to perk up, too.

"So, what did you think?"

Evie shrugged. "She's gotta nice house. No roller coaster, though."

The brown-haired girl smiled. "I had fun." But then her mood seemed to switch as another look crossed her face. "Evie, what's it like having a boyfriend?"

"Huh?" She was taken off guard. "Ain't you ever dated?"

"No," Ella answered. "I just mean, I really like Craig, but I―" She look puzzled. "I _really_ like him, and I get distracted whenever I think about him, and―"

Evie chuckled. "Well, if you ever find yourself distracted by him, just think of yourself kissing somebody that you don't like." She winked. "I'm always thinkin' about Steve. He's good to me, ya know? Treats me real good." A smile. "Makes me feel real good, too."

Ella blushed. "I wish I had a relationship like that."

"Well, I'm sure you will some day," came the reply. "But for now― If you ever feel overwhelmed with Craig, do as I said. Oh, and be yourself, ya know?"

The other girl nodded, but at Evie's advice, a certain white-haired hood crossed her mind, and even though she told herself to be grossed out by that particular thought, she found herself more curious than anything else.

XXXXX

"What's got you lookin' like that?"

Ponyboy glanced at Soda. "Like what?"

"You're all flushed."

The younger teen subconsciously touched his cheek. "Oh, nothin', I'm just thinkin' is all."

"Sure you are," Soda said, and winked. "Who is she?"

Ponyboy felt his ears go red. Oh, no. He wasn't going to tell Sodapop about the girl he had been thinking about all week. Definitely not. Oh, but she was so gorgeous with her dark hair, her gray eyes, those long lashes . . . He hummed in response. Cathy Carlson was something else, he told himself, but he didn't want to tell either of his brothers about his feelings for the girl, not yet at least.

"Fine," Soda said at his younger brother's silence. "Don't tell me."

Ponyboy chuckled. "Goodnight, Soda."

And just like that, Cathy's face appeared in his mind again, and he smiled in the darkness, letting his thoughts cloud away everything else.

* * *

 **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.**

 **Thank you for reading!  
**


	13. Blessed Are the Meek

_"_ _It wasn't anything she could fight. She could only ache and wait. Maybe it was some big tease and when He saw it had gone far enough He'd give her a sign. She looked hard for something up there to move for a sign. A star in the daytime, maybe, or the sun to shout, or even a mutter of thunder. Her arms went up in a desperate supplication for a minute. It wasn't exactly pleading, it was asking questions. The sky stayed hard looking and quiet so she went inside the house. God would do less than He had in His heart."_ – Zora Neale Hurston, _Their Eyes Were Watching God_

Alright… _Shampoo, conditioner, nail polish, top coat, emory boards, foundation, paper towels…_ Ella went through the list Evie had given her as she and her friend made their way through the aisles of the grocery store Ella worked at. Ella knew for a fact they had all those things on the future beautician's long list, but…it really felt like a lot now that they were actually buying it. Evie's cart was already loaded up with supplies, and there was still more. Ella didn't really mind the process, though; sure, someone like Evie probably had more glamorous ways to spend her time, but there was a nice sort of rhythm to the whole thing as they wound their way through the store, which had grown quiet in the evening hours.

"Do you think we'll have enough?"

"Enough what?"

"Enough to pay for everything."

Evie snorted. "I think we'll have more than enough," she said as she grabbed cans of hairspray off the shelves. "Stevens was…more than generous," she reluctantly admitted.

"Did she say to you what her father said when he found out what the money was for?" Ella imagined that a little over a hundred dollars wouldn't exactly make a dent in the Stevens' savings like it would in hers, but still, a hundred dollars is a hundred dollars. And what would Dr. Stevens say when he found out all of that was going towards beauty products in preparation for one homecoming dance? Did rich people worry about things like that?

"I don't think she told 'im."

Evie felt a bit guilty then, and so did Ella, but Evie was able to quickly move on, justifying it by telling herself that Bridget had offered the money, offered her home, and that this was going to be just _great_. Ella, however, felt that there was a tiny part of them that was taking advantage of her new friend, and that maybe Evie was motivated a little bit by revenge. Just a little. But she kept those thoughts to herself.

"We need plenty of colors of nail polish. We shoulda asked those girls what color dresses they're wearing…" Evie mused. Then she cut her eyes to Ella. "What color is your dress?"

"Black. It's not new, but it's nice enough, and not in too bad a shape, so I'm just going to hem it."

Evie narrowed her eyes. "Black? Well, I mean, if you _want_ to look like you're going to a funeral…" At Ella's slight scowl, Evie quickly added, "But I'd like to see it. Maybe turn it from just a black dress to a _little_ black dress," she purred, throwing her friend a wink. "Bryant won't be able to keep his hands off ya."

Ella rolled her eyes. She was sure Evie would come up with something, and maybe not even a _bad_ something. But Ella, as grateful as she was, was sick of feeling like some sort of experiment. "Alright," she shrugged. "What color is yours?"

"Green," Evie said, with gusto.

The color of envy.

XXXXX

"Well, well. If it ain't the queen of 'em all. How ya doin', Vick?"

Vickie stopped dead in her tracks. She knew that voice. She slowly turned around, and sure enough, smiling to beat the band, there was Two-Bit Mathews. There had been an animosity between these two since junior high school. Both could remember being locked into a closet in someone's basement together for seven minutes. To Two-Bit, Vickie Harper had been a girl that had caught his eye, but he knew – or had learned very quickly – what sort of person she was. To Vickie, Two-Bit Mathews was just some boy from the other side of town that was friends with Darrel Curtis, and that seemed to be where he got all his popularity from. He'd grown up good-looking, and Vickie had followed along on her Miss Oklahoma trajectory, but that didn't mean _shit_.

"And if it isn't Tulsa's answer to Bob Newhart," she shot back, voice sugary sweet and dripping with sarcasm. Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow.

"Taller than he is," he clarified, "but fair enough."

Vickie sighed. They seemed to be the only two people in this parking lot this morning. "What could you possibly want from me, Two-Bit Mathews?"

There were plenty of people at Will Rogers High School that were afraid of Vickie Harper. Terrified of her, even. Two-Bit couldn't be bothered. He'd known her too long, and he could see right through her. Funny thing, since they didn't exactly know each other all that well, but that's what happens when you grow up, in a sense, together. Same experiences, same teachers, same memories. It's just what happens. So they didn't really know each other, but they knew enough, and that was enough for Two-Bit.

"Harper, you are stickin' your nose into somethin' ya shouldn't," he said slowly.

"What does that mean?" She knew exactly what that meant.

"It _means_ that I saw the nominations, Vickie. You _know_ that I'm able to see 'em. And I get the strange feelin' that you got somethin' to do with Evie Martin's name havin' got entered."

Vickie couldn't help but feel a bit proud that she was being credited with the work. It had been simple, really. As one of the top members on the homecoming committee, she'd been able to get easy access to the box holding the names for nominations. Wasn't like the thing was under lock and key. So she'd gotten Evie on the list. Done and done. And come Friday, Vickie was certain that Miss Evelyn Martin would be one of the nominees for homecoming queen. She was sure of it.

"And what would make you think that?" She asked, playing coy. Two-Bit chuckled.

"I know you, Vickie. I know you well enough. And I can't imagine for one second that yer not chompin' at the bit to take responsibility for this." It was impressive, Vickie had to admit, that Two-Bit could keep that dumb smirk on his face the entire time he spoke.

"Well, what's the problem, huh? What's the big deal? It's just – "

"It's not _just homecoming_ to you, I know it's not. You've got some reason for this." But now the grin was gone, and he was standing right in front of her, towering over her, seeming to get more and more frustrated by the moment. "And I don't know what the fuck that reason might be, but I don't like this, I don't like this one _bit!_ "

"And why might that be?" Vickie followed up quickly. "Why should you _care?_ Evie's not _your_ girlfriend, and whatever is going on between her and me is _our_ business. And who's to say she'll have to do any more than stand up there in front of the student body and probably _lose_. What's the big deal?"

"The _big_ _deal_ is – "

"Oh, hold on a moment." Vickie held up a finger. "I know. This has nothing to do with Evie. This has everything to do with my good friend Bridget Stevens." When Two-Bit didn't say anything right away, Vickie smiled. "A- _ha_. I knew it." She tipped her finger towards his face. "But why?"

"Vickie, you shouldn't do this – "

" _Why?"_

Two-Bit sighed. He knew he was right – Vickie needed to drop this shit as soon as possible. He still wasn't quite clear on why she was doing this. But he also knew _Vickie_ was right; the more he saw her bossing Bee Stevens around (whose name he'd _also_ seen on the list), the more the whole situation became that much more personal, for reasons he still couldn't quite explain or understand. (Or acknowledge. Or even want to acknowledge.)

"I don't know why you're doing this," he began in a low voice, "and I plan to find out, but in the meantime, I'm gettin' sick and tired of watchin' you push her around. She's not yer maid, she's not yer cronie, she thinks you're her _friend_ – "

"I am!"

"…but you still treat her like a tool. Vickie, she ain't built to be like you."

"How would you know?"

"Because I _know_ ," he said, sounding dangerous enough to make Vickie back up a step. But then he faltered. He could never stay mad at girl very long, unless that girl was Kathy. "She's…she's… _meek_ ," he finished lamely, stuffing his fists in his pockets.

He hadn't even denied that Vickie was right. My god, she had him right where she wanted him! And how _adorable_ – Two-Bit Mathews caring for her friend. Or, pretending to, for whatever reason. But he was right about that, her being meek. Vickie could admit it. Bridget was easy to boss around, and the girl supposed she could admit to being guilty of that, too. But it wasn't as if Bridget was trying to put a stop to it or anything. Why refuse free labor? "Well, you know what they say about the meek…"

"'Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth,'" Two-Bit recited, with a voice not unlike that of the most genteel of preachers, then smugly added, "Matthew five-five."

Vickie narrowed her eyes. "You expect me to believe someone like you is a man of God?" She asked, and Two-Bit didn't miss her underlying tone of disbelief.

"No," he shrugged. "Not the least bit. That ain't even a hard one, anyways. Point is, Harper, that your tooling around ain't gonna end well for ya. In fact, you've prolly fucked yourself over well enough already."

Vickie took a step closer. "Oh? And what makes you say that?"

Two-Bit met her halfway. To think there was a point in his life when he looked at this bitch and thought she was even the least bit pretty. Because those ugly insides…they start to show. "I know a lot that you don't," he whispered, baiting her. "Just know that. And know for as much as you're willin' to play dirty, for as far as you're willin' to go, I'm willin' to take it ten steps further. Back off of Evie, ya hear?"

Vickie was practically snarling at him by this point. Good. He had her exactly where he wanted her. "You" – she stuck a finger in his face, almost at a loss for words – "Just…stay away from Bridget Stevens."

"Bridget Stevens?" Two-Bit repeated. "Oh, you mean _Bee_ Stevens," he grinned. "And why should I?"

"Because I _said_ so."

"Oh? Well, ya know what they say…" Two-Bit turned to leave, calling over his shoulder, "'The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps!'"

XXXXX

George Clayton, Jerry Thompson, Randy Adderson, Craig Bryant, and Kevin Rogers. Sherri Valance, Lucille Drysdale, Vickie Harper, Bridget Stevens, and Evelyn Martin. Two-Bit shook his head; what kind of hellish mess had not only _he_ gotten himself into, but shit, the _rest_ of them? He and Dallas and Evie and Steve…and even Bridget. Jesus Christ, what had Vickie Harper done?

"Hell of a way to spend a lunch hour," Dallas grumbled. He was dumping out all the old nomination slips into the trash. Two-Bit had been charged with counting everything up, and now that particular job was done and the top five for king and queen had been tabulated, they were pretty much done with their duties. For now.

"Do you know Vickie Harper?" Two-Bit asked. Dallas raised his eyebrows.

"Who?"

"Vickie Harper. She's one'a the nominees, and a class-A bitch, with a capital-B." When that still didn't seem to ring a bell for him, Two-Bit went on. "Ya know, blonde, super socy."

"That's a lot of 'em, man."

Two-Bit sighed. "Welp. Anyways, I'm pretty sure she's the reason Evie's on this list."

Dallas rolled his eyes. Who fucking cared? Homecoming was stupid. Mrs. Girdlé was stupid. Being on the homecoming design committee was _stupid_. Dallas was stuck setting up the dance Friday night, and what sorta guy spends their Friday nights doing something as fuckin' stupid as that? Guys like Dallas lived for Friday nights. Mathews was lucky – ever since that joker had joined him in this escapade, all they'd used him for was ballot counting and manual labor, none of that girly shit Dallas had gotten stuck doing.

"What's the big deal? Evie goes up there, won't get her name called, goes back to Randle. Big fuckin' whoop. That ain't nothin' to get all worked up over."

Two-Bit wanted to point out that Dallas had gotten worked up over plenty of things a lot more petty than this, but he liked to keep his head attached to his ass, thanks very much. He also didn't tell him that it wasn't so much Evie he was worried about. Sure, she was Steve's girl, and Steve was a buddy, and Evie was perfectly fine and all, but what Two-Bit was more concerned about was how Vickie was toying with everybody, especially the raven-haired girl who sat in front of him in history class. And if Dallas found out about him being interested in Bee Stevens…well…again, he'd like to keep his head. Thanks very much.

"Ya know," Two-Bit tried again, switching tactics, "George Clayton is nominated for king."

That got Dallas's attention. But he made sure not to show it at first. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," Two-Bit said. "He was friends with Bob Sheldon."

Dallas shut his eyes tight, glad he was facing the wall so Two-Bit couldn't see him. Any mention of Bob Sheldon, or Randy Adderson or Cherry Valance or whatever, instantly brought Johnny to mind. And the longer he dwelled on Johnny, how he was six feet under and rotting away and getting eaten up by the worms, the worse he felt. "George Clayton, huh? Ain't he that asshole who – "

"Uh-huh. God, that fish-faced guy got nominated, too! What the hell?"

Dallas turned around. "You think he'd win?"

Two-Bit shrugged distractedly, but he knew he had Dallas right where he wanted him. "Who? Bryant?"

" _No,_ Clayton."

"Oh! Well, I don't know, Dally. He might. He and Vickie, I don't think they're datin', but they're…they're tight. Think they're plannin' to sweep the thing. They ran a stupid little campaign together."

Dallas was never afraid of giving it right back. And while this couldn't, not in a million years, make up for what happened to Johnny, fucking him over with this stupid homecoming shit was his next best option that wouldn't land him in jail. "That so? We've got about a week, right?"

"Thereabouts."

Dallas walked over to the ballot box and grabbed the list of the five nominees for king and queen. George Clayton, right at the top. And Vickie Harper. "Mathews, I don't care who else gets it, but let's make sure Clayton don't win."

Two-Bit smirked. There it was. Right after voting ended, they'd take their names out. Let fate decide – sort of. "Sure thing, Dal. Long as Vickie Harper don't either."

XXXXX

Cherry, Missy, and Bridget sat together, listening intently to the afternoon announcements. Nobody cared about what clubs were cancelled! Get to the good stuff!

"This is killing me," Missy said. "I mean, I ain't gonna get nominated, but…"

"If Vickie doesn't get nominated…" Cherry sort-of finished, and all three girls looked at each other. Collectively sighed – if Vickie didn't get nominated, somehow, then there would be hell to pay.

In his drone, Principal Vernon continued, announcing _"…Nominees for the homecoming court is as follows_ " – the girls perked up – " _For king, we have George Clayton, Jerry Thompson, Randy Adderson, Craig Bryant, and Kevin Rogers._ " The girls all looked at each other briefly, silently communicating that those names were to be expected. But there were bigger fish. " _For queen, we have Sherri Valance, Lucille Drysdale, Vickie Harper, Bridget Stevens, and Evelyn Martin. Starting Monday –_ "

"Oh, goodness," Cherry sighed. Missy raised her eyebrows.

"What's wrong? You got nominated!" She turned and grinned at Bridget. "And so did you and Vickie! Everything's great!"

In a manner of speaking, yes, everything was absolutely spectacular. Missy looked at the world through rose-colored glasses; she sometimes couldn't see the trouble that was brewing. Cherry and Bridget, however, knew exactly the trouble. Or, they had their suspicions. Girls like Evie…they didn't just get nominated out of nowhere, and it certainly wasn't something that happened on the regular.

"You're right," Cherry said, smiling. "Everything's…great!" She shrugged, and the girls all went on pretending that everything was, indeed, ' _great_.'

However, Bridget knew things were far from it. As she walked to the library, where she'd asked Cathy to meet her after the final bell, she knew two things for certain: One was that she was sure Vickie had something to do with Evie being on the homecoming court, and a nominee for queen; the other was that _she'd been nominated for homecoming queen._ She'd…she would not only get to cheer at the game, but be in the parade, waving from a convertible in her dress as they rode around the football field, Jerry sitting next to her in his football uniform at halftime. They'd look like a picture-perfect couple. And what if they won! That would be exciting, but Vickie probably wouldn't be too pleased.

Vickie probably also wouldn't be too pleased if her (suspected) plan backfired.

When Bridget got to the library, she found Cathy already sitting at one of the tables, working on an art project of sorts. Bridget smiled and confidently made her way over to her, quietly asking, "What'cha working on?"

Cathy didn't even startle. "Something for art class. Actually, it's a nonrepresentational portrait of Ella. What do you think?"

Bridget gave it a once-over. It looked to be a weeping willow tree. "Lovely," she proclaimed. "We're doing a similar project in my art class. I'm not much of an artist, but I'm alright with calligraphy and picking out color schemes, so. Yeah. Yours is really nice, though."

Cathy seemed to appreciate the compliment. "Hey – in your art class, are you studying Georgia O'Keefe?"

Bridget narrowed her eyebrows. "No. Why?"

"Well…" Cathy was blushing. "It's just…well – "

"I know who she is, though. Her work is fairly…suggestive."

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

Bridget allowed herself to laugh. "Well, uh, I've heard my dad talk about her art with one of his colleagues before. The man was some sort of art history professor, and I sort of…eavesdropped," she admitted.

"Oh. Your father is a history professor?" Bridget nodded. "That's, like, actually interesting," Cathy laughed. "My father just sells insurance."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"No! Of course not. It's just…well, being in your house the other day was kinda like being in this library," Cathy said, gesturing to the room.

Cathy had been impressed with the whole experience, but the best part, for her at least, was the fact that every room had bookshelves. Like, on every wall. She assumed most of those belonged to Dr. Stevens, but there were plenty in Bridget's room; classics like _Watership Down, Anne of Green Gables, Candide, Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Wuthering Heights…_ it really was like being in a mini library. Cathy would love something like that in her house, but the Carlsons simply didn't have the space. Bridget had said some of the books had been gifts, some she'd picked out on her own, or her father had read them to her when she was little and she liked them so much, she'd reread them, even if they were more for younger girls. Simply for the story.

"You said the other day that your favorite book is _Little Women?_ "

Bridget nodded. "Yeah, it is. I think I like it because I like the idea of having sisters, you know? I don't have any siblings or anything. I have cousins, but they all live out in New York, and I'm here now, so…well, I guess I could just get lost in it. And it's just a good book, regardless of my baggage," Bridget tried to joke, but Cathy just gave her a sympathetic look. "Have you read it?"

Cathy shook her head. "Haven't found the time yet," she sighed. "It's a long one. But I have seen the movie, the one with Elizabeth Taylor. So I know what happens."

"That shouldn't spoil the book for you. There's a lot they don't cover in the movie. Lots of little things."

Cathy nodded slowly. She supposed she could see where Bridget was coming from. She was an only child, and probably pretty lonely at times since her father worked. Cathy couldn't relate, however; she had six siblings, and as great as they were (in theory), they could still be royal pains in the ass. But then a different sort of thought struck her. "Who do you think each of us would be?"

Bridget raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Who is 'us'?"

"You know," Cathy shrugged, "you, me, Evie, and Ella. Which sisters are we?"

Bridget really looked surprised that Cathy had asked that for some reason. But then she thought about it; Ella, with her shy countenance and simple way of dressing was definitely poor Beth; Evie, in turn, with her brash attitude and no-nonsense way of speaking was certainly Jo; the other two were a bit harder to place. Cathy had all the motherly airs of Meg, but none of her experience, and the ambition of Amy. However, she didn't seem bratty, like Amy was at times. Bridget herself was older and desired to have a comfortable living, like Meg did, and was certainly concerned with appearance, but she could see herself as Amy too, with her art and – she reluctantly admitted – brattiness. But was Bridget _really_ that ill-mannered?

"Evie is Jo, and Ella is Beth," Bridget said with certainty, "but I don't know if I'm Meg and you're Amy, or the other way around. What do you think?"

Cathy had to think about it for a moment. Her first thought was that Bridget _had_ to be an Amy, because she was probably a little bit spoiled, and more aristocratic. And Cathy did have that oldest sibling gene…but there was something that caused her pause. Bridget was much more modest, like Meg was, and older than Cathy (even if only by a little), and she didn't seem to necessarily _want_ to be spoiled, but…hmph. "I don't know, either," she said. "I think I need more time to think about it." She really thought that they still needed to get to know each other better, too.

"Fair enough."

The silence settled back between them. "So what was it you wanted to meet about?" Cathy asked.

Bridget was about to answer, but it was at that moment that Cathy spotted Ponyboy Curtis. Bridget did, too, and she shot a smile over her shoulder at Cathy, and a suggestive one at that. The older girl stood and waved Ponyboy over to their table, and Cathy's stomach started doing somersaults. When Pony smiled at her, she just about exploded.

Bridget stood beside Pony and began, "Cathy, I'd like you to meet – "

"We've met," the younger duo said in unison, and they both laughed. Bridget felt herself blush. Well, this had become something of a comedy of errors, hadn't it?

That morning, Bridget had told Ponyboy in art class that there was someone she knew who she thought he should ask to the homecoming dance. They were both roughly the same age, and from what the older girl knew about the two of them, seemed to have plenty in common and would make a perfect couple for homecoming – maybe for longer, even. She wouldn't reveal who, and she insisted that he do it, and meet her in the library right after afternoon announcements. But now he was here, and he was face-to-face with Cathy again. This was the girl Bridget Stevens wanted him to ask to homecoming?

Well, he couldn't exactly say he minded.

"I didn't know you two had already been introduced," Bridget said, smiling nervously. Just a _bit_ nervously. "You've already done half the work for me!" Cathy laughed a little. Ponyboy couldn't take his eyes off her. Bridget smiled to herself – just where she needed them to be. "Well," she sighed happily, winking at Cathy – the go-ahead, it seemed. "I'll leave you two to it."

XXXXX

The end of the day found Steve leaning against his car, smoking a cigarette and watching as his girlfriend made her way through the parking lot and over to him. Here's the thing: he knew she had nerve. And he liked it about her – he liked it a lot. He knew she was brave.

Which is why this whole homecoming situation worried him so much.

"What's up?" Evie asked. He was mad, but he had to admit, her rack looked great in the top she was wearing.

"Whaddya mean, what's up?"

"You got that look on your face," she said as she loaded her books into the backseat of the car. "You know, the one that just screams that you're pissed off about something."

"Is it that obvious?"

Evie laughed. "You kiddin' me? 'Course it's obvious. Now, what's up?"

Steve sighed. "I think you know what's up, Eve."

Right. That. Evie had been sitting in seventh period, just a few minutes ago, buffing her nails and barely paying attention to anything going on around her when she heard the announcement. As fun as school dances could be, she couldn't care less about the homecoming court. Until, of course, she learned that she was somehow on said homecoming court, which meant that she had a chance to become homecoming _queen_. And if _that_ happened, she'd have to share a dance with one of those stupid soc boys, and then what would Steve think?

Then, of course, there was the question of how she'd managed to get on the homecoming court in the first place. And the answer seemed obvious to her.

"It's just stupid homecoming. It's nothing."

"Wasn't nothin' when you were beggin' me to take ya a while back," Steve snapped. "How the hell did this happen?"

"I don't know! I don't know, Steve!" At her boyfriend's surprised expression, Evie dialed it back. "It's prolly just some sick joke."

"Exactly! And that doesn't piss you off?"

Of _course_ it pissed her off. It pissed her off for multiple reasons. For starters, she knew there was no way she had gotten the nomination on her own merit. She hadn't campaigned to get on the list to be nominated, hadn't shown any interest, but here she was, and she had the sick feeling that a certain blonde-haired bitch had something to do with it. That much seemed obvious, at least, for the moment. And now, she was gonna have to stand up there, in front of God and everybody, and she was gonna have to sit in one of those convertibles and ride in the parade and ride around the football field at halftime with some lug sitting beside her, and everybody would be _looking_ at her, wondering why the hell she was there and how the hell she'd gotten nominated for this thing, and it was going to flat-out suck.

"Look," Evie sighed as they got in Steve's car, "yeah, it's weird, and if what I think happened _did_ happen, then yeah, I'm really fuckin' pissed off. But I don't know anything yet, okay? I don't know what's goin' on, so don't ask me. All I know is that I'm nominated for this stupid thing, and that's that. Capische?"

Steve capisched. But he was still fucking pissed about it. And then he remembered that Two-Bit and Dally had gotten stuck on that stupid homecoming committee, and he figured he owed them a visit.

XXXXX

The little drugstore that Bridget had come to frequent was awfully quiet. The only people there were her, the druggist, and the soda jerk behind the counter. The druggist, Mr. Connors, smiled at her and said a quiet, "'Lo, Miz Stevens," when she came in, and Bridget gave him her best smile, the best she could muster at the moment. It had been a strange day; first, Jimmy Hopper hadn't been in class, and when she'd asked Two-Bit if he knew where he was, he just gave her vague answers. Then, she had found out she'd been nominated for homecoming queen, which was a nice surprise, sure, but Vickie hadn't seemed that impressed. Bridget had called her up when she'd gotten home, hoping maybe Vickie might be at least a _little_ happy for her and Cherry.

 _"_ _It's sorta funny, isn't it? The three of us being nominated," Bridget had said._

 _"_ _I guess," Vickie had said unenthusiastically. Bridget could imagine her examining her nails on the other end of the line, instead of focusing on the conversation._

 _"_ _And Evie Martin, too," Bridget added, trying to sound casual._

 _"_ _Shocking," Vickie sighed. "Some joker probably nominated her. What a crock."_

 _Bridget bit her lip. She felt kinda bad for Evie, hoping no one would make fun of her when she got up on stage. Evie was pretty, and could be nice when she wanted to be... "Well. Congrats," Bridget sighed._

 _"_ _Thanks," Vickie said, and hung up._

"Hey there, Honey Bee!"

Bridget whirled around and found herself face-to-face with Two-Bit's flannel-covered chest, and she smacked at it in frustration. It was wrong that she even knew that it was him without even having to see his face.

"Woah, there!" He laughed. "What's up with you? What's the rush? I just got here!"

Bridget scowled up at him. "You're in my way," she grit out. "I have somewhere to be."

"Oh?" He asked. "And where might that somewhere be?"

Bridget rolled her eyes. "I don't have to tell you. Look – I have a ton of stuff to do for homecoming, okay? And I have homework and – "

"If you've got all that stuff to be doin', then what're you doin' out here?"

The girl stopped mid-sentence with her mouth hanging open. True, the strawberry milkshakes at this particular drugstore had become something of a weakness for her, but she had also just wanted to get away from everything for a while. "Touché," she sighed, and Two-Bit smirked.

"Here – I'll join ya." He took her by the shoulder and led her to a booth, ordered her the milkshake she'd come for. Then Two-Bit folded his hands and placed them on the aqua blue Formica tabletop. "Ya know," he began, "ya don't have to do this to yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you didn't have to say yes to bein' Vickie's campaign manager and run around like a chicken with its head cut off for her. 'Sides – you should be worried about winnin' yerself."

Bridget raised an eyebrow. "Me? I don't care if I win," she grumbled. "I don't even _want_ to win!"

"You sure? You sure you ain't just sayin' that cuz you're scared of what Vickie would do if you did?"

There it was. Two-Bit had hit the nail on the head, _but_ , Bridget thought to herself as she played with her straw, _I wish he wasn't right about me all the time._ "You know me all too well, Two-Bit Mathews," she tried to kid. But Two-Bit had the audacity to nod!

"Sure I do," he shrugged. "I mean, I'm your friend, ain't I?"

Now she was really surprised. Was he? She didn't know. "Um. Are you?" She asked. Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, sure I am," he said. "I mean, I'd say we've got all the hallmarks of a friendship here. We talk _every. Damn. Day._ We spend time together outside of school – "

"Not intentionally," Bridget tried.

"Nice try," Two-Bit grinned, "but I'm afraid _friends_ is exactly what we are, Honey Bee. And as your friend, I feel like I should be lettin' you know that Vickie Harper ain't a good one."

Now she was offended. "Oh, yeah?" Bridget crossed her arms and scowled. "How so?"

Two-Bit leaned forward on his forearms, and Bridget met him halfway. "If you're afraid of what she'd do if _you_ win instead of her, then she ain't your friend. She's just a bitch."

"' _Bitch_ ' isn't a very nice word."

"Don't matter. It's the truth. Friends don't treat each other like that."

"What would you know?" Bridget grumbled. "You're friends with that hoodlum Dallas Winston."

Two-Bit laughed. "Oh, honey. Dallas Winston may not be the best of guys, but he's a good buddy, and I'mma stick by 'im. You don't know the hell he's been through, kid. Not sayin' that justifies anything, but Dallas has seen the nasty side of this world. Vickie is the way she is cuz she was born that way."

"And Dallas wasn't born mean?"

"Oh, I dunno. But I know he's got his reasons. Vickie ain't got no reasons. She's just mean to be mean. And as your _friend_ ," Two-Bit drew out the word, "it is my sacred duty to let you know that I don't like seein' the way she treats ya."

Bridget pursed her lips and glanced down at the tabletop. She got this strange feeling in her chest when he said he was her friend. All warm and fluttery. "If you're really my friend, why did Jimmy Hopper shout in front of God and everybody that you hate me?" She asked, her voice cracking at the end. God, she'd better not cry…Two-Bit sat back and sighed. Before he could say anything, Bridget also asked, "And why didn't you stand up for me? If I'm really your friend, why didn't…why didn't you…"

"Bee, honey," Two-Bit sighed, "please don't cry."

She sniffed. "And why not?"

" _Because_ if you stop cryin', I'll take ya to a movie."

Bridget's head snapped up. "You'll _what?_ "

"You heard me!" Two-Bit laughed. "C'mon, you're depressin' me, and I'm sorry about this whole mess…I really am, Bridget."

Bridget didn't miss the sincerity in his voice, plus the fact that he'd used her actual name to address her, and not one of his multitudes of stupid pet names. There was a little voice in her head that was telling her that if anyone saw them together, it could be bad news. People could get the wrong idea. But a bigger part of her just wanted to see a movie. And Two-Bit wasn't horrible company.

"Which movie?" She asked quietly.

"Huh? Ain't you gonna thank me for my apology?" The look on Bridget's face told him that wasn't the thing to say. "Uh – sorry. Again. C'mon – come see _The Great Race_ with me. You seen it yet?"

"I know that song from it."

Two-Bit snorted. "The one about the tree?"

" _The Sweetheart Tree_ , yes," she said, playing at being exasperated. "But no, I haven't seen it."

"Then come see it with me."

"Why should I?"

Two-Bit leaned back in. He needed to stop smiling like that, or she'd kiss him. She really would.

"Because friends take their friends to movies. And I'm yer friend, Bee Stevens, whether ya like it or not."

XXXXX

 **AN: The movie** ** _The Great Race_** **and the song written for it, "The Sweetheart Tree" by Henry Mancini came out in the fall of 1965 – right in our timeline!**

 **"** ** _The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps_** **" is from Proverbs, 16:9. Two-Bit is essentially saying that what's done is done, and out of their hands…**

 **Thanks for reading :)**


	14. Ella, If You Please

" _ **Nothing was changing. She was the one who was changing."**_ — **Betty Smith,** _ **A Tree Grows in Brooklyn**_

* * *

Ponyboy was going to ask Cathy out.

Just not this particular day. No, because on this particular day, he was too crammed with school work and other things to approach the black-haired beauty properly. If he was going to ask her out, he wasn't going to be a bumbling mess that was all flustered. Good Lord. Not even Soda knew that he had plans to ask Cathy Carlson to the homecoming dance—none of his friends knew. Ponyboy had been doing a great job of concealing his feelings because he didn't want anyone—anyone like Two-Bit Mathews or Dallas Winston, or even Steve Randle—interfering with them.

The teen maneuvered his way into the locker room to change for gym, his small smile fading once he saw the back of George Clayton's bulky frame up ahead. Beside him stood Craig Bryant and Kevin Rogers, and the younger boy hurried into the aisle where his locker was located. He didn't want anymore trouble from _that_ group—the same group that had been starting in on him ever since he'd returned to school almost two months ago.

"Hey, greaseball."

Too late.

Ponyboy's fingers, which were spinning his combination, came to a halt as the sound of footsteps reached his ears. He turned to face the other guys in one swift movement, a scowl on his face as he slouched his shoulders, eyes narrowing just a little as he sent a hard look at George. Glory, he was doing his best to put up with this guy, really he was, but George was relentless, and his buddies were constantly backing him up. Ponyboy was alone in gym, and he suddenly missed Johnny Cade more than anything—they would have been in the same class.

"What do you want, Clayton?" he asked, trying his best to sound bored. He didn't want Clayton to think that he had the upper hand here. Then again, it was three against one. Pony could hear Dallas's voice in his head telling him to get tough, to get mean. "Well?" he continued, taking a step forward.

George smirked. "Say, Craig, how about we teach this little puke a lesson?"

"Yeah," Craig encouraged, a bitter smile forming on his lips. "How about we cut his hair off even more?"

George continued. "Or we could just finish what Bob didn't . . ."

The threat was left dangling in the air, and Ponyboy felt his hands becoming clammy. He didn't like thinking about that night a month ago, didn't like remembering Johnny's death, or Bob, or the incident; he just wanted to forget, but George's taunting words and mocking expression refused to let him.

"How about it, greaser?" Kevin chimed in, taking a step forward. He took in the younger boy's facial countenance, noticing just how perturbed he appeared. Another step forward, then another, and then another. "Or how about this!"

And before Ponyboy had a chance to react, Kevin's fist collided with his cheek, sending him back a step or two, his one hand instinctively reaching for the reddening area—Kevin had socked him good, real good, enough to leave one helluva bruise. Ponyboy glanced around himself and them quickly—unsure of what to do. If he attacked Rogers, Clayton and Bryant would jump in and whip him, and he wasn't looking forward to visiting Principal Vernon to take the blame, either. Lord just knew that the man had it in for greasers.

"Clayton! Bryant!" Coach Micheals called. "Two minutes until class starts. Let's go!"

Ponyboy inwardly sighed in relief. Kevin backed away from him to follow his friends, but not before promising him that they would be back, which only fueled his anger further. Oh, glory, but there was no way he could get these guys off of his back. No way in hell was he telling his friends about it, either; he had to take care of the issue himself.

 _You'd better wise up, Pony . . . you get tough like me and you don't get hurt. You look out for yourself and nothin' can touch you . . ._

XXXXX

"So, you're friends with that Soc chick now?"

Two-Bit shot Dallas a look. "I'm lookin' out for her, man. Cool it."

But Dallas's glare only hardened. "Heard she took a slam from Hopper the other day or somethin', or at least that's the word goin' around." He lit up a cigarette. "Heard you didn't so much as stick your nose in it, except to tell him to lay off or whatever."

It was Two-Bit's turn to glare. "Look, Dal, I told ya, it ain't nothin' personal, alright? Bee is . . . well, she's different, don't quite fit in on either side, know what I'm saying?" He suddenly wished that he hadn't mentioned that him and Bridget had seen a movie together last Friday evening. And with Steve's inquires over the weekend about why Evie was on the nominee list was only driving Dallas up a damn wall—he hated being on the committee, and the entire Soc ordeal was aggravating both him and Two-Bit. "Just leave her outta this."

But the blond merely rolled his eyes. Of course Two-Bit would choose to do something so foolish and stupid—probably cause another mess for everyone else to clean up while he was at it. Bee Stevens, huh? Yeah, he remembered—that's what people were calling her now, all because of Two-Bit, who was mighty proud of his nickname for the raven-haired girl. No surprise there. It didn't matter, though, at least, not to Dallas it didn't. See, this _buzzing Bee_ was trouble, as far as he was concerned—she was friends with that Harper bitch, the one who Two-Bit was sure had something to do with Randle's girl making the dance nominee list, or what-the-fuck-ever, so why in the almighty fuck would he even bother to look out for the bitch's friend?

"Seems to me like she has a side." His blue orbs zeroed in on Two-Bit's gray ones. "And you would do well to stay the hell away from her. She ain't nothin' but trouble."

Even though his words were bitter, the side of Two-Bit's lips quirked. "See, now, that's funny, 'cause she thinks the same thing about you."

The hood's eye twitched. "Yeah, the kinda trouble she don't wanna tangle with."

And Two-Bit shut his trap. He was no coward, not by far, but there were times when you knew when to just zip it, and this was one of those times. Dallas was a walking time-bomb, and his vendetta against the Socs ran thick and deep, reaching higher for the surface more and more with each passing day, and Two-Bit was looking out for Bridget Stevens, he was, so he didn't bother to say anything else.

Besides, he had Dallas on his side for dealing with George Clayton and Vickie Harper anyway. It was safer to keep Bridget Stevens out of this.

XXXXX

Evie was chewing hard on her gum. She kept telling herself that it didn't matter that she was one of the nominees for the homecoming dance, that she was right up there with Vickie Harper, Bridget Stevens, Cherry Valance, and Lucy Drysdale. But it _did_ matter. It mattered a lot. And she was still pissed about the whole thing. See, Steve was worried, too, not that she could fault her boyfriend there, and he had so kindly decided to take matters into his own hands—matters which included talking to Two-Bit Mathews and Dallas Winston about the issue.

To make things worse, Steve had taken some of his anger out on Two-Bit because he thought, having heard from Two-Bit, that Vickie Harper (and Steve's input of Bridget Stevens) were setting her up. Evie really didn't think so—not Bridget, at least—but she wouldn't put anything past that Harper bitch. Evie didn't care, though, _she didn't,_ or that was what she told herself.

She glanced at the brown-haired girl beside her, who was busy scribbling down the rest of her English essay on _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn._ Evie had hardly made a dent in her own final essay on _The Scarlet Letter_ , but she was preoccupied with other issues—issues that included the salon service, how she was going to go about telling the other girls that her business would be held on the other side of town . . . Oh, good Lord, she wasn't looking forward to that—not at all.

"Evie?"

The brunette turned her head, one brow raising at Ella. "Hmm?"

"You okay?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," she answered, reaching for her nail buffer. "Just peachy. Did you hem your dress at all?"

Ella nodded. "Yeah, I even took your advice." A blush colored her cheeks. "I've been thinking a lot about Craig, you know? I want him to . . . well, I want him to really notice me."

"And he will," Evie pointed out. "You just take care of your dress. I'll take care of everything else." A smile brushed her lips. "How short did you make the dress?"

And that's when the other girl's face contorted to utter embarrassment. "Well, I—" She used her hand to indent the length of the dress against her skin. "It's about . . . _here_." The side of her hand pressed about two inches above her knee. "I think it's a bit short, but . . ."

"I think that's great," Evie replied, startling her. "Mine ain't too short, but it's short enough. Believe me, Steve ain't a fan of the color green, either, but he's gonna suffer wearing a green tie an' all."

Ella smirked at that. "Craig was glad that I didn't pick anything too extravagant."

"Lucky both of you," she said, and then shook her head. "Alright, so what do you got done for your book essay?" Her eyes fell on her half-written paper. "I ain't exactly finished."

"Well, both of our stories deal with some self-realization, bad circumstances, and learning to accept situations." She began tapping her pencil against her desk. "I'm not sure there's a lot that Francie and Hester have in common as characters overall, but there's, well, the self-acceptance for one . . ."

"Fucked up circumstances."

Ella nodded. "I think my character had it easier than yours."

"Well, in the end, they both made out okay, I'd say," Evie piped in, pursing her lips. "Then again, I don't think I'd wanna end up like ol' Hester."

The brown-haired girl shook her head. "Me, either."

As that particular thought drifted leisurely through her mind, Ella wondered what she would be like years from then. She wondered about Evie, too, and without even meaning to, she found herself wondering the same thing about Cathy and Bridget as well.

XXXXX

Spirit week meant dressing in the school colors, the jocks going crazy over everything, all the girls getting hyped because of the dance on Saturday, and everyone else in general being overly excited about the pep rally and big game Friday afternoon and evening. Of course, Ella was excited for the dance, because she was excited about being with Craig. Craig made her feel good, made her feel like she was noticed, and that was something. She had liked him for a while, but now that he had actually realized that she existed, she was swimming in a blissful oasis.

So engrossed in her daydream was she that Ella hadn't realized that she was being trailed by none other than Vickie Harper, until the blond called out her name. Truthfully, Vickie unnerved Ella, made her feel like a tiny little insect that needed to be squashed—it was her piercing eyes, though, the blue irises filled with immense cynicism.

Ella inwardly shuddered, but smiled anyway. "Hi, Vickie," she managed to say.

Vickie was grinning, face softening. "Walk with me?"

The shorter girl wasn't sure it was exactly an invitation, but more of a demand. "Okay."

Vickie stared down at Ella, eyes narrowing a little. She had decided last Thursday at lunch that Miss Ditz was going to be the one she would pry information from, having been able to tell that she was a timid tucker—mainly, she was just pathetic. For the life of her, Vickie couldn't understand why Evelyn would choose _this_ girl to help her out. It just didn't fit. They didn't fit together. No, Evelyn belonged down in the gutter, Miss Ditz and Miss Sunshine, well, they could just get lost, and Bridget? Bridget belonged with _her_ group, not _these_ girls.

"So, you're friends with Evelyn Martin, right?" Vickie asked, trying to make her voice as soft and as friendly as possible. Her teeth grounded, though, when she thought of Two-Bit Mathews's words to her the other week.

Ella nodded, though she wasn't quite sure that Evie thought of her as a friend. Then again, the two had been spending a lot of their time together, and Ella was Evie's assistant, as far as the salon business was going. But Ella thought of Evie as a friend of hers, like she thought of Cathy and Bridget. She wondered how the other girls saw her, and a small, barely noticeable smile, crossed her lips as she remembered the evening they had spent at Bridget's house last week.

"Why do you ask?"

Vickie tossed her long hair over her shoulder. "Oh, well, with this whole salon ordeal, I wasn't sure." A cat-like grin stretched over her full lips. "You know, Evelyn—Evie—is a nominee for homecoming queen, right?" There was something in the sound of her voice, something that made Ella's skin crawl, something that wasn't quite settling with her. "Have you heard?"

Ella nodded again, wondering what Vickie really wanted. "I did, yes."

"So you know what people are saying, right?"

At that question, Ella's brows pulled together in perplexity. She was never one to involve herself with petty gossip, and she didn't like to include herself with the social class divide, so whatever anyone was talking about, or whatever was the latest trend, she was clueless to all of it. But Vickie seemed to be egging her on as if she was beating around the main reason she wanted to talk to her.

"I . . . don't really care what people are saying, Vickie," came the response, and even though Ella was doing her best to sound stern and less intimidated than what she really was, her voice only came out as soft and timid, and Vickie looked completely unfazed by her.

She glared down at the brown-haired girl as they came to a stop by the cafeteria. "Well you _should_ care, Ella Mitchell, you really should." She took a step closer to her. "And here's why: You see, there's a rumor going around that Evelyn Martin cheated to get her votes; well, that's the _word_ going around anyway, and were I you, I'd watch my back and remember what kind of girl you're friends with."

Ella blinked once, twice. As Vickie's words sank in, a terrible realization dawned on her, one that made her feel worse than before. Now, Ella wasn't the type of girl to believe these types of rumors, and she wasn't about to let the likes of Vickie Harper talk lousy about Evie, either. However, Ella was too nervous to really open her mouth and settle the score with the blond.

"That's a lie," was all she could respond with, her gaze lowering to the floor. "Evie doesn't even care to be on the nominee list, so whatever people are saying . . . they're wrong."

"Are they?" Vickie's gaze was sharp and piercing as she squinted down at the girl in front of her. Well, Miss Ditz wasn't as much of a ditz as she had originally thought, but she still needed information. "So, tell me this, where exactly does Evel— Evie think she's doing this business of hers again?" At Ella's troubled look, she quickly changed her tone of voice. "I was just curious because my friend Bridget plans on getting her hair done by her, too, and . . . well—"

But Ella quickly cut her off. "Then why don't you talk to Bridget?"

Vickie's glare was oh so cutting. What was it? Did Evelyn have these girls wrapped around her fingers now or something? The blond couldn't understand, couldn't piece the puzzle together, and she had to wonder—really wonder—what was so alluring about that low-class, slutty greaser girl. What did she have that was causing all of these girls to want to be a part of this business of hers, and how had she roped Bridget Stevens into it, too?

The more she allowed herself to dwell on it, the angrier she became. She told herself that it didn't really matter, because come hell or high water, Evelyn Martin was going to be made a fool of, and there was nothing, _absolutely nothing_ , that was going to ruin those plans. No, Vickie Harper was going to make sure that Evelyn Martin and this sleazy business of hers went down, because girls like her didn't deserve those opportunities, and more than that, girls like her didn't need to bring girls like Bridget, and even Miss Sunshine and the garden party, or Miss Ditz and the dummy brigade, down with her.

She smiled at Ella, a graceful look blanketing her features. "Oh, I'll do that, _Mitchell_ , don't you worry, but in the meantime, just remember what . . . type of girl _you_ are before you, well, completely ruin yourself and your reputation." There was a cool threat lurking beneath the surface, and Vickie had intended for Ella to pick up on it; she wanted Evelyn to know what was going on, wanted her to get riled up and worried. This was just the beginning. "See you around, Mitchell."

 _Mitchell?_ Ella shook her head. "Ella, if you please."

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away. As she continued to walk, though, she mulled over Vickie's words, wondering what the upper-class girl had meant when she told her remember what type of girl she was. It made a sickening sensation wrap around her gut as she thought about herself, and Evie, and Cathy, and Bridget.

Were any of them really so different?

XXXXX

Ponyboy had been acting weird, well, weirder than usual, but it was enough that Dallas Winston had picked up on it, and with this entire school drama, otherwise known as the homecoming dance, right around the corner, the hood had a sneaking suspicion who had been giving his buddy a hard time. But he wasn't sure at the same time, and with that fucking jail sentence looming over his head, he was quite wary about causing any kind of trouble.

Two-Bit had mentioned that this George clown had been buddies with Bob Sheldon, the dead kid, and he and Vickie Harper—the school's most notorious bitch—were running their campaign together. Dally was no fan of school spirit, or dances, or any of that shit, including any school functions, but he was always up for a good payback, or a good fight, and with George as one of the next head Socs, he had absolutely _no_ problem in making sure that the little shit and his blond-headed girlfriend lost.

Steve had come babbling to him and Two-Bit the other day about Evie making the nominee list, and really, Dallas could care less, but he and Two-Bit had a plan, one to make sure that Vickie Harper and George Clayton didn't do something to embarrass Evie Martin. Vickie might have been undermining, but Dallas was cunning, very cunning and dangerous, and with Two-Bit's sly antics, they made one hell of a dangerous pairing.

Vickie and George would be dealt with, albeit very subtly and very carefully.

In the meantime, Dallas had other fish to fry, so he waited for George Clayton and his cronies in the locker room, aimlessly biding his time. The blond could be quite sneaky when he wanted to be, and right then, he wanted to be. However, hiding out in the "Out of Order" stall wasn't his idea of fun, but Dallas had backed himself into it when George Clayton and his buddy, Kevin Rogers, waltzed into the back to head toward the showers.

Unfortunately, he was only able to make out half of their conversation.

". . . but Vickie is going to make sure that—"

". . . going to win."

"What about that greaser whore?"

"Who? Randle's girl?"

". . . and they'll be taken care of."

". . . Vickie said . . ."

"And we'll win."

Their voices drifted away, and Dallas scowled, eyes hard as a sudden realization crossed his mind. This wasn't just some fucking set-up for Evie or whatever—it was something else entirely. And there was only one person that he could speak to, one person he wasn't at all looking forward to seeing. Oh, glory, but what in the fuck had he gotten himself into?

XXXXX

"I told you to quit worrying about it," Evie said, shaking her head.

Steve glared, crushing his cigarette beneath his heel. "Jesus Christ, Evie, I'm just trying to look out for you, you know that?"

The girl sighed. "I know that, Steve, I do, but you're gonna drive yourself crazy with this." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Look, I'm only gonna be spending two nights at Stevens's house, and I won't be _that_ long, well, maybe a few hours tops, but I got Ella Mitchell and Cathy Carlson helping me out with everything, so it won't be too bad."

"That ain't that point, baby, and you know it," he replied, resting his hands on her shoulders. Steve was never one to get emotional, but when it came to Evie, he was protective to a fault. He just cared so much about her—he loved her. "I just don't wanna see somethin' happen to ya. I don't like this, and I don't like what I'm hearin', either."

"About Vickie and Bridget settin' me up?"

"Yeah, that."

She had been dreading this conversation with her boyfriend, absolutely dreading it. She needed Steve to trust her, to understand that she was going to be fine, and even if Vickie—she didn't think it was Bridget so much—decided to start something with her, well . . . she would take care of that uptight bimbo. Evie wasn't afraid of anything, and who cared that she was on the nominee list? See, knowing that Dallas Winston and Two-Bit Mathews were handling the ballot box actually made her feel a little better, and Steve was going to be right there with her at the dance, so what could go wrong?

Vickie Harper and her Grade A asshole crowed didn't scare her, and she would be damned if she was going to step down and cower away from the likes of them.

Still, it just made her sick that she was now involved with everything. _Ugh_.

Evie looked up to meet her boyfriend's stare. "Trust me, Steve. I need you to just trust me, alright? Ain't nothin' gonna happen, savvy?"

The dark-haired boy ran a hand through his hair. "I trust _you_ , Evie. I don't trust _them_."

"Well, if it's any consolation to you, Steve, I ain't gonna be the only greaser girl on the West side of town those nights," came the stormy response, and Steve's eyes went wide.

"I didn't mean it like that."

Evie scowled. "Right."

Steve rolled his eyes, wondering when in the hell Evie had blown a fuse. He hadn't meant to upset her, but she was getting snippy with him, and really, he was just trying to look out for her. Then again, his girlfriend was a tough chick, could handle herself, and while he loved that about her, he thought it was his duty to protect her from this shit. But, _damn_ , where the hell did the mention of her reputation come into play?

"Evie—"

"Save it," she bit out before he could finish. "I don't wanna hear anymore about it." Her arms were still crossed, her cheeks tightened from the enormous sneer on her face. "Did you get the tickets yet?"

A sigh. "I'm getting them this week."

Her only response was a quick nod of approval, and even though she had told herself that she would be fine, Steve's words plagued her mind for the rest of the evening.

XXXXX

Ella was bored out of her mind, really bored.

Standing at the register with M&M Carlson as her bagger was her only company, but the younger teen wasn't really too talkative that particular evening. Usually, he was always paired up with Rita Marsh, but that night, since only Jan and Ella were on, M&M had been placed with her. Ella studied M&M, taking in his features which were similar to Cathy's. They both shared the same gray eyes, she noticed, and then thought about her painting. Both her art project with Cathy and her English project with Evie were due next Monday, and a feeling of relief passed through her as she swiftly thought that her self-portrait of Cathy was nearly completed.

"Ella, right?"

The brown-haired girl glanced to her side, and smiled. "Yup."

"You hang around with my sister sometimes."

Ella nodded. "Yeah, we're doing an art project together."

"And a business, right?"

M&M had always been a curious child, as far as Ella knew, and she had always liked him real well. He was sweet and honest, and whenever he spoke, he was always coming out with knew topics and stuff that most people wouldn't think of. Ella found him to be an impressive kid—real smart, too. Cathy must have been proud of him, she reckoned.

"Did Cathy tell you that?"

M&M tilted his head a little. "Kinda, but she said it was more of a salon service for some girls going to the homecoming dance."

"She's right," Ella replied, and grinned. Unfortunately, before she could finish her conversation with the younger teen, the bell above the door chimed, capturing both of their attention. Ella's face dropped a bit as she saw Dallas Winston making his way toward her, a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a hard look plastering his face.

"We need to talk," he said once he was close enough to her.

Ella looked taken aback. "I'm at work."

The hood scowled. "Yeah, and I've got places to be, and we need to talk about somethin', savvy?" He glanced around the store. "There's barely anyone in this joint, man."

Ella rolled her eyes, wondering what could possibly be _so urgent_ to Dallas Winston that he was nearly demanding to talk to her right then and there. She tossed an apologetic look at M&M as she followed Dallas outside where he lit up his cigarette, inhaling deeply. She swatted the smoke away from her face as she glared at him.

"Two minutes," she stated, crossing her arms.

The side of his lips quirked. "You've been hanging around with a chick named Bridget Stevens?"

The girl looked confused, but she nodded anyway. "Yeah, why?"

She studied the blond-headed delinquent in front of her, wondering why the thought of kissing him had ever crossed her mind when Evie suggested concentrating on somebody she didn't like to avoid acting like a ditz in front of Craig. Dallas wasn't good-looking, not in the least, and Ella found herself wanting to gag for ever thinking about him in that way. _Gross_.

"And your friends with Evie Martin now, too?" He was straightforward, and his expression was firm but blank, giving nothing away.

Ella was staring at him in bewilderment. "I don't understand what you're getting at, Winston."

"Yeah?" he said, narrowing his eyes at her. "Well, know this, sweets . . . Vickie Harper is setting Evie up with this whole fucking dance shit on Saturday night, and I don't trust this Bridget chick, either, so if you know somethin', you'd better tell me."

She only blinked in shock at his words. "Bridget wouldn't hurt Evie," she said sternly. "What makes you think Vickie Harper is setting Evie up?"

"I got my reasons, girl," Dallas replied, sounding irked. He didn't have time for this bullshit. He had already heard enough from Clayton and Rogers in the bathroom that afternoon. Judging from Ella's look of bafflement, he assumed that she didn't know anymore than he did. Two-Bit, though, was quite certain that Vickie Harper had done something to make sure that Evie made the final list, and they were going to get to the bottom of it one way or the other. "Just keep an eye out."

Ella watched him walk away, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was going to have to talk to the girls, and soon . . . before it was too late.

" _ **It is remarkable that persons who speculate the most boldly often conform with the most perfect quietude to the external regulations of society." —**_ **Nathaniel Hawthorne,** _**The Scarlet Letter**_

* * *

 **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. We're just having fun playing with the puppet strings. ;)  
**

 **As always, thank you all so much for your constant support and feedback. We really appreciate it and all of you!**


	15. To Have A Friend

_**Nobody sees a flower - really - it is so small it takes time - we haven't time - and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.**_

 _ **Georgia O'Keeffe**_

 _ **XXXXX**_

"Are you asking me on a date, Ponyboy Curtis?" Cathy crossed her arms, and smirked. Her grey eyes almost twinkled, but that could have been effects of the buzzing light fixture directly above her.

Or the too-many-hours-on-sailboat-lolling-across-the-Arkansas-River nausea Pony felt creep up his throat.

Great, he was going to vomit all over her.

Although Pony had a few inches on her, this morning she loomed over him, her easy going confidence crafted into imaginary stiletto heels. Pony would never have Darry's made by Jack LaLanne body, and even Soda, though he had a lean panther like physique, made Pony feel like a collection of sticks in comparison. Short sticks, the type of sticks that girls in stilettos crush into fine powder and turn into compost.

Well, at least the birds will be happy.

Pony looked down at his Converse. He might as well be barefoot.

Despite the runaway train of thoughts derailing his brain, Pony tried to look as unbothered as possible.

What the hell was wrong with him? He had no fear of good skin on skin fight, didn't even fear Darry's temper no more, but asking a nice girl like Cathy Carlson on a little date and he was nervous and jumpy as all git out.

Pony really wished Soda or Johnny were with him. He scoffed, no, he needed to this on his own, shit, he was fourteen. The worse she could say was no.

Ponyboy scratched the back of his head; why did his head always itch when he was nervous? He casually moved his hand behind his head, his elbow resting against the locker, trying his best to ape the casual coolness he'd seen from Tim Shepard.

Shit, what a role model to emulate. He almost laughed at the thought of Tim Shepard being his model for how to look when he was asking Cathy Carlson on a date. Besides Shepard probably didn't even need to ask, with his JD smoldering looks and rap sheet he was a magnet pulling in girls wanting to give her father a coronary; if their dad was still around, in their neighborhood, a hit or miss.

He was planning on asking Cathy to Homecoming, he really was, but he figured he should at least ask her on a regular date first.

Cathy cracked a laugh, her eyes though grey sparkled and her mouth curved into a grin that was, hot. He never thought of a girl's grin being sexy before, hell, he never thought of anything as being sexy and it may have been his nerves or the extra chocolate cake he had for breakfast, but she was mesmerizing in a way he never saw before.

She reached her hand out and touched Pony's wrist. Her hands were warm to the touch. "I'm sorry, I'm just joking, of course, I'd love to go."

That was it? That was almost too easy. Pony waited for the other shoe to drop.

Cathy broke through his thoughts, "so, if it isn't a state secret, where are we going? It is dressy-casual?"

Dressy casual? What the hell was she even talking about? But Cathy looked earnest, as if this was an actual good question that required a serious response.

Pony shrugged, "I don't know." He felt a twinge of pain he really wished his mom was still around, she'd know what dressy-casual meant. Hell, even Darry, with the Socy gals he used to date, would be able to tell him what 'dressy casual' meant.

Whatever 'dressy casual' meant it sounded way above what Pony could afford.

Pony shrugged, "I'm thinking about just going down to the Ribbon, you know, nothing major." Pony wanted to kick himself with Cathy's invisible heels. What girl wanted to hear that a date with her was 'nothing major?' Well, there it was folks, the shortest relationship in human history.

Forget _Readers Digest,_ maybe he could contact the good people at _Guinness Book of World Records._ His ears burned red with embarrassment.

But as Pony folded into self-pity, Cathy only grinned, "that sounds great, it would get me a chance to get out of this," she pointed contemptuously to her dress. Pony didn't notice it before, but it was an inch or two shorter than the usual jumpers she wore. She had nice legs.

"You look nice," Pony said smiling and he meant it, but he wish he could find something more intelligent to say, something that would express how pretty she was, how much he enjoyed being with her. That seeing Cathy at school was the only good thing in his day. But Pony's tongue got twisted and his mind felt thick and fuzzy, yet oddly empty.

Girls liked being complimented, even at fourteen year old Ponyboy Curtis knew that, but Cathy only rolled her eyes, "I hate wearing dresses, I have homework to do, so do you want to pick me up after 7:00? I have to be home by 9:00 so that should give us enough time. Does that work for you?"

Pony's eyes darted back and forth, he hadn't even thought about all that, but Cathy was as organized and take charge as Darry, but hot.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

Cathy grinned, "great, oh, you should plan to arrive about fifteen minutes early, my dad is going to want to meet you first." She squeezed his arm, "I'll see you tonight!"

Pony smiled weakly but as soon as Cathy turned the corner, his head slammed against the back of the locker, meet her parents? Glory this was turning out more complicated than he thought.

XXXXX

Art class was a fuckin' blast as normal. Ol' Girdle bitching about some painting, Ella Mitchell kept on glancing over at him, the girl with the weird eyebrows grinning like a damn loon. It was enough to drive a man batty.  
Speakin' of batty…

"How are you coming along with your project, Mr. Winston?" The middle aged woman asked as the class was busy free drawing one of the model hands.

"You mean the picture or Homecoming? Cause thanks to you I got a bunch of "projects" to work on," Dal slammed his pencil against the notebook.

"Well, if you ever need any extra help, I'm always here," the teacher said brightly and Dally hated how no matter how hard he tried, she never lost it with him. Most teachers gave up on Dallas Winston before the second day but this dame was still a fucking pain in his ass.

"How's your portrait coming along? It's worth a good percentage of your final grade," if there was any nerves in her voice, she hid it well.

Dally grinned and if ol'Girdle had any brains she'd be scared shitless of his grin, cause Dal's grin was one of the most dangerous things about him; but her face showed no sign of worry, instead she leaned towards him a bit more.

"Oh you mean the picture of you Mrs. Girdle? How is it coming along? Fine and Dandy. I've decided to draw you as a sun, a big ol' ray of sunshine." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

She should be relieved he wasn't drawing her as a piece of shit. Don't think he wasn't tempted. Fuck, after she forced him to join that pansy ass Homecoming Committee he was itching to get back at her.

Her only response was a closed mouth smile.

"That sounds wonderful Mr. Winston; I'm looking forward to seeing the finished project."

She walked to another desk and began to talk to another student.

"Yup" Dally said under his breath, "a big ol' ball of gas."

He scribbled furiously on his sheet of paper.

XXXXX

"Hey girlie, come here."

Ella Mitchell gritted her teeth and gathered her art supplies and text books, she felt every muscle of her body tighten up with frustration and anger.

"My name is Ella, Dallas" she said his name with expanded contempt and weariness.

Dal sighed impatiently, "whatever, come here your highness." Ella popped a piece of gum in her mouth and letting the saliva wrap around the gum stick; she walked over to Dally Winston.

Why did she let him talk to her this way?

"What's going on," his harsh voice hitting her like a fierce wind, his arms crossed and his whole body stiff, as if she was inconveniencing him and not the other way around.

"With Vickie?" Ella felt her face grow hot she hadn't mentioned to the girls what Vickie had said about Evie.

"No, with the fuckin' Queen of England, of course with Vickie." Dally was in a fucking pissed off mood and trying to get a conversation with Ella going was not putting the edge off at all.

Ella sighed, she hadn't talked to the girls about Vickie Harper yet, Vickie didn't exactly lend herself to fun conversation but it was more than that. Ella never saw herself as a forceful girl, as a girl who was a crowd leader. Evie, Cathy, even Bridget, had more confidence than Ella could ever muster.

What Ella could do was be a friend. She liked Evie, and she liked Bridget she didn't want to play monkey in the middle in this crazy greaser-Soc war she just wanted to get through the year in peace, was that too much to ask?

"I'm getting to it." Ella said in an exasperated tone. If Dally was so concerned shouldn't he talk to Evie himself?

"Yeah, well the longer you take your sweet time girlie, the more I'm thinkin' that maybe there is something going on and Bridget Stevens got her snooty ass sticking where it don't belong." Dallas gave her a contemptuous grin.

Ella felt anger climb through her stomach and up her throat until it wasn't just fresh mint saliva sloshing around in her mouth.

She was sick and sad that it seemed that no matter how hard Bridget tried no one was giving her a chance. Bridget, as far as Ella was concerned had already made amends for her comment in English class ten times over.

"Bridget has nothing to do with what Vickie is planning."

A slow smirk burned on Dallas's mouth, "so you admit that Vickie is planning something for Martin?"

Ella burned with frustration, "you're the one who told me that Vickie was setting Evie up!"

Dallas, his face blank and unreadable looked the blue haired girl in the eyes, "for someone who claims to be Evie's friend you sure as hell suck at it."

Ella stormed out of the room, as she passed a poster of Vickie staring down at her like a warped Mother Theresa of Calcutta, her stomach sank inwards, Dallas Winston was right.

XXXXX

Cathy Carlson had to tell Bridget Stevens her good news. She wanted to tell Ella, but she had never had a chance during art class, the older girl looked preoccupied, occasionally glancing back at Dallas Winston the entire class period.

"Bridget!" Cathy happily cried out, ignoring the glances as she walked up to her friend. She was not one to give into exuberant displays of emotions, but she couldn't help it, today there were still butterflies in her stomach, but instead of making her feel sick, she felt as if she could fly.

Bridget turned and smiled at her younger friend.

"I have a date!" Cathy's eyes glowed and for the first time the fifteen year old didn't look older than her years. There was something so earnest in her expression.

Bridget grin broke over her face; she was genuinely thrilled for her friend. Bridget liked having someone to look after, she didn't have any siblings of her own, but she liked feeling almost like an older sister to the younger girl. It was funny, she felt happier for Cathy than she did for herself for anything as of late.

"That's fantastic! Maybe we can double date?" She winked at Cathy as pulled a textbook from the top shelf of the locker.

Cathy chuckled, "oh my gosh, Pony and Jerry would probably talk sports the entire time."

Bridget let out a soft laugh to hide her sigh, it wasn't Jerry she had in mind.

Neither girl noticed that Vickie Harper lurked two lockers down, listening to it all.

XXXXX

Ella felt the weight of the world on her shoulders, Bridget and Cathy were happily chatting away and Ella didn't want to interrupt them, but she needed advice.

Nervously, she tapped Cathy on the shoulders, "can I talk to you girls?"

Cathy nodded with concern, "of course, what's wrong?"

Ella only shook her head, "in private," and pointed to the girl's bathroom.

Ella opened the bathroom door, the worry and dread on her face palpable.

Bridget looked concerned as well, but unlike Cathy who was hovering over Ella, she stood back a few feet.

Ella sighed, "If someone was spreading rumors about you, would want to know?"

Bridget shook her head no, "I don't think so, I mean, I guess it depends on what kind of rumors and who's spreading them, but sometimes it better not to know what people really think about you. You can't change their opinion of you no matter how hard you try." There was a tint of melancholy in her voice, and Cathy's eyebrow shot up, wondering what Bridget was talking about.

It was odd, Bridget was in Cathy's mind, the epitome of cool and sophisticated, she was from New York for Pete's sake! But Cathy knew from her time at Graves that rich and sophisticated people, not that there were that many at the private Quaker run school, were no more immune from problems than anyone else.

Cathy crinkled her nose and looked at Ella with curiosity, interested in what her friend had to say. She knew for a fact that no one was spreading rumors about her, she was too boring. Cathy, absent mindedly stroking her purse that held her secret smokes, half-way wished she led the type of life that could inspire rumors.

Not dirty ones of course, but she wanted to turn heads to be the center of attention, to be not just Cathy Carlson oldest of the seven Carlson kids, but Cathy Carlson the groovy chick.

"Yes, I'd want to know," she said in a sure fire voice. Cathy never got how girls were always so timid with each other, she preferred honesty. She much rather have someone come up to her and straight up call her a bitch than pretend to be her friend behind her back.

"Why are you asking us?" Bridget asked.

"Yeah, "Dead boy or live girl?" Cathy said with a wink, it was strange, in the past week she felt her confidence grow by leaps and bounds. It wasn't just Pony or making friends with upper classmen, it was discovering herself piece by piece, inch by inch.

She touched herself down there, and her fingers didn't shrink into stubs, she didn't grow a beard or break out in hives, she didn't go blind. Nothing happened, except Cathy found that she liked, after a few moments of pain, the sensation of her fingers deep inside of her when she thought of Ponyboy Curtis.

It was almost as if, in a small way, her fingers slowly, and not without some pain, pressed through the layers of self-doubt in Cathy's mind and having felt herself in the deepest part, she was now more willing to share parts of her personality, like her humor, with others.

It helped that she had friends like Bridget, Ella and even Evie to share that part of herself with.

Ella smiled slightly and shook her head, "nah, I mean, it's Vickie she's telling everyone Evie is…"

"Telling everyone Evie is what?"

Evie stood in the bathroom doorway.

Bridget's eyes opened wide, Cathy's mouth dropped and Ella sucked in the heavy, charged air. Her body felt so flushed she half though she was going to faint.

The buzzing sensation inside of Evie felt as if every rude glance, every insult she'd ever received had come to life, its shadowy breath licking on her body.

She was used to having bitches like Cherry and their ilk talking about her behind her back, but Ella?

Ella was a friend, she thought with chortled laughter.

She stood back, widening the space between her and the gossip triplets.

"We have got to stop having these little random run ins in the bathroom," the voice was unsteady and cracked as a boy going through puberty, but everyone turned around, surprised that it was Bridget Stevens not only trying to make a light-hearted remark, but usher in an uneasy peace.

Cathy tried to give her friend a slight smile. Cathy was nervous as hell herself, waiting for the venom Evie was gonna unleash on them all, knowing that they would deserve it.

A sick feeling moved inside of her, she had wanted to be accepted, to break out of her shell, to be, and God this sounds so ridiculous, 'cool' but she never wanted that acceptance to be paid by Evie Martin's feelings.

Guilt was a funny thing Ella thought, the larger the guilt the smaller you felt. Right now she felt like a bug.

She hoped Evie Martin could feel her shame.

"Evie," she quickly said, "I'm sorry, I just wasn't sure how to tell you."

Evie crossed her arms, "oh, you sure don't have no trouble talking to Cathy and Stevens about me, do ya?"

Bridget could barely contain her rolled eyes, great, now she was Stevens again?

Cathy did what she did best; she injected herself into a middle of an argument that wasn't hers. She stepped forward, standing between Ella and Evie; the sophomore wasn't too weary, between her siblings she had broken up a lot of fights.

"Evie, Ella wasn't trying to talk behind your back." She tried to keep her voice steady, but it was hard with Evie shooting daggers at her.

"No?" Evie glared at the sophomore, "what do ya call it? Singing my praises?" The hurt in her voice wrapped in an itchy cloak of anger burning through every caustic note of her words.

Ella looked like she wanted to cry. This was all too much, she had to deal with Dallas Winston, her mother, and now some war between the social classes that she wanted nothing to do with. The only bright spot right now was Craig Bryant and her new friends, and now because of Ella's mouth all of that was being flushed down the toilet.

Worst of all, she let Evie down. She never asked for any of this.

In trying to protect her friend's feeling, Ella ended up hurting her. Could Ella do anything right?

"I'm sorry, Evie," and Ella Mitchell truly was; the simplicity of her apology not able to contain how awful Ella truly felt.

Evie sighed; she was still plenty upset and hurt, but even more she was curious what Ella had to say. It had to be something good if she was so nervous she was talking to Bridget and Cathy about it. Ella was a shy girl and a lot less brash than Evie, but she wasn't a girl who got easily intimidated. Any girl who could strike up a conversation with Steve had to have at least some guts; even if they were the type of guts who spilled secrets about Evie to others.

"The fish in the rumor mill would like to know what all the sharks are sayin'" Evie tapped her foot impatiently.

Ella sighed, three set of eyes on her. She hated being the center of attention.

"It's Vickie Harper."

"Well no shit," Evie snapped. She looked over at Bridget who was doing her best to become invisible.

"So, what does bitch have to do with me?" Both Bridget and Cathy winced, Cathy because of Evie's language, she may have fingered herself, but swearing in public still made her uncomfortable. Bridget winced because for the first time she was beginning to think that maybe that word could apply to Vickie. It made her feel awful to even think of her friend as 'bitch'; even worse to think that it might be true.

But Ella wasn't deterred by Evie's tongue. She never was.

"She's spreading rumors that you stuffed the ballot box and that's how you got on Homecoming Court." Ella said it in such a rapid voice her words almost slurred together.

Evie cracked up laughing, "shoot, that all? Honey, Angela Shepard has spread better yarns about me when she was only knee high in her step daddy's liquor."

Evie felt a small bit of relief, out of all the possible rumors that could be spread about her, this one wasn't the worst.

Besides, Evie told herself what did she care what people thought of her? She had Steve she had her friends, she could give two shits about Vickie Harper.

But Ella still looked nervous, "and, I don't know, but I think Vickie and George might be planning something at the dance."

"Like a sabotage?" Cathy spoke up, there was part of her that was almost intrigued, she looked down guiltily at her feet.

"I dunno," Evie turned to Cathy, "my boyfriend told me about it earlier."

Cathy was confused, all of these moving parts, she felt like she need Cliff Notes to keep track of it all.

"Well, what are we going to do about it?" The younger girl asked in a take charge voice.

"What do you mean what are we going to do about it?" Evie could barely hide a smirk, she knew Cathy meant well and she liked the younger girl enough, but the idea of Cathy Carlson leading the light brigade against Vickie Harper struck Evie as amusing.

What was she gonna do, read a list of list of rules and bore Vickie to death?

But Cathy only shook her head, "we can't let Vickie get away with this." She meant it, she didn't know how they would stop Vickie, but they had to stop her.

"So what should we do?" Bridget looked around nervously. Four girls not quite friends, but maybe more than acquaintances linked in a coifed alliance.

Bridget sighed and felt a tangled piece of dark hair fall in front of her eyes, she blew it off her face. To think this all started over hair.

Guys had it so much easier.

XXXXX

"Well, if it ain't Miss. Homecoming," Kathy cackled loudly. She sure did know how to master the whole holier than thou look, despite her rep for being loose; must be the perk of being a preacher's daughter.

Evie rolled her eyes, she had told the girls Vickie's little stunt didn't bother her in the least, and she meant it, but that didn't mean she was in the mood to be dealing with being the butt of jokes.

"Yeah, so what?" Evie's voice snapped, a bit louder than she meant.

"So, are you dropping out?" Sylvia said, a hunger glint in her eyes.

Evie felt a slight tremor in her hand, but did her best to look steel eyed. "Why the hell would I do that?"

Sylvia looked at her with a hurt expression, but Evie was too bristled to notice.

"Because," Sylvia said, her voice, unlike her top, oddly controlled, "you ain't one of 'em."

Everyone kept on saying that but she had no idea what that meant anymore. Truthfully sometimes she didn't feel like she fit in with anyone, she sure as hell didn't fit in with Bridget, Cathy was young, Ella was fine, but a bit of a square and her friends, well, she hardly saw them anymore. When she did see them the only thing they had in common were the boys.

Evie was feeling so damn uncomfortable right now, "so what's the big deal about Homecoming? It just ain't for girls like Harper and Stevens." In the back of her mind, Evie remembered saying something similar to Bridget Stevens, the irony was not loss on her, Stevens seemed to get it, her girls, still didn't.

"No," Sylvia replied, her tone colder, "but being on the Homecoming Court? Being next to all those bitches who spend years knocking you down, trying to pretend that you're one of them?"

"You're ashamed aren't you?" Kathy broke in. "Ashamed of being greasy, ashamed of us, maybe even," her voice broke an octave, "ashamed of Steve."

An anger so scorching it could light the entire state on fire rose through Evie, yet it came out not as a fierce scream, or an angry shout, but a whisper, "fuck you."

"Well, you ain't Two-Bit, so no thanks." Kathy said a smoldering look of superiority.

"You know Evie; there are a bunch of rumors going around that you…"

Evie cut off Sylvia, "it ain't true," Evie hated the desperation that snaked through her voice.

Sylvia shrugged, "I know, but why don't you take your name off the list? Listen, hon, I'm tryin' to be a friend here, I know you didn't put stuff no ballot, shoot girl, you can barely stuff your bra," in spite of herself, Evie grinned.

But Sylvia went on, "but when you spend all your time with Bridget Stevens, get nominated for Homecoming Queen, hardly spend time with your real friends no more. You can't blame people for questioning. You've changed Evie." There was a thick layer of hurt in Sylvia's voice but Evie was so fucking pissed over what Kathy had said, she didn't notice.

"You know, I heard that it's actually _Stevens_ who is…" Evie cut off Kathy mid-sentence.

"She's fine," Evie said coldly, she didn't want to hear Kathy open her damn trap anymore.

But Sylvia bit onto the words like the snake biting onto the apple.

"See?!, You're real quick to defend Stevens. Says something don't it?" Sylvia twirled her hair, her smug look crossing into a dangerous territory.

"It says what?" Why was she even taking this shit?

"That you even have to ask says it all, don't it?" With that, Kathy and Sylvia walked away, talking to each other in exaggerated whispers, ever so often looking back at Evie.

Evie walked to her next class, she felt the eyes of everyone upon her, gazing, judging.

It didn't bother her, she told herself, but it did. The dirty looks she got from the Socs was something she was all too familiar with; it was the judgmental eyes of her friends that burned.

For the first time Evie could identity with Hester Prynne; the hallways of Will Rogers transformed into a Puritan court house, the sign of her sin not a scarlet letter, but a slip of paper that read, "Evie Martin Homecoming Queen Nominee."

XXXXX

Dallas Winston slammed his hand into the steering wheel of Buck's T-Bird. A fucking nightmare. This whole Homecoming crap was nothing more than a pain in the ass. Now he had to deal with whatever shit Vickie Harper had planned for Evie. Evie wasn't his chick, and normally he wouldn't give two shits, but Evie was Steve's girl, and Steve was his buddy, so that made it his problem.

Pony Curtis walked towards Dal, he could feel the bruise under his eye and he guessed he would end up with a pretty good shiner. Great, right before he's supposed to take Cathy out on a date. He would have rolled his eyes at the thought of having to meet Mr. Carlson when it looked like a juvenile delinquent, but his eye was too swollen to even move.

"What's goin' on with you?" Dal's eyes bore a hole through Pony.

Pony tried spilling some bullshit story about how there was nothing going on, even though the nasty bruise on his face was screaming so loud that even Dal could hear it over the roar of traffic zipping past them.

But Dal, wild, cunning Dally, didn't believe him for a second. He recognized that slight look of fear on Pony's face. He had seen it before.

"Don't fukin' lie to me kid." He slammed his fist into the steering wheel, yet it didn't hurt at all. He wasn't gonna let what happened to Johnny happen to Pony, if someone was screwing with the kid, he'd find out and make him pay.

"I aint!" the kid yelled. Damn apparently his attitude was still going strong. Dal glared at the kid.

Pone might be Dal's friend but he wasn't one to take no lip from nobody. Only one person could get away with putting Dal in his place.

 _Got_ away.

Dal, wiped his face with his bare hand. So, the kid was playin' Helen Keller, that was fine. Dal would figure out what was goin' on and make the assholes pay.

He licked his lips at the thought of settling scores with the Socs, would serve 'em right, but Dal knew that he needed a plan. Dal shook his head, now he had to do the one thing that was harder for him to do than anything. He had to wait.

He thought of Ella who was supposed to talk to Evie about all this shit, he sure hope dopey wasn't gonna fuck this up.

Yeah right.

XXXXX

Ponyboy Curtis ran cold water over his face and ruefully touched his bruise.

Of course he'd have to meet the parents. Of course he knew that, but meeting some phantom parents in his imagination was completely different from actually coming face to face with the man who could probably break him in half like a twig.

"Open up Pony, shit man, I gotta piss!" Soda was banging holy hell on the bathroom door.

"Hold your damn horses! I'm gettin' ready." Pony shouted with annoyance. Crap could a guy have any privacy in this house?

"It ain't my horses I'm tryin' to hold on to!" Soda piped up and busted the door open.

Soda rushed to the toilet and dropping his jeans and his drawers and let it rip.

"Hey," he said over the competing sources of flowing water, "you look all spruced up." Soda looked over his younger brother, Pony had on a clean pair of jeans and blue t-shirt, it was a hand me down from Soda. His hair was half combed back, half combed to the side.

Soda ran his hands under the lukewarm water.

"Yeah," Pony smiled, "I have a date."

A huge grin spread across Soda's face, "a date, no foolin'. Who is the lucky chick?" Both he and Darry had started to date back in junior high, Pony was shier than his brothers, and it was wild to think of him on a date.

"It ain't that big of a deal," Pony said, combing the other half of his hair back, "just to the Ribbon."

"Shit," Soda was about to make a dirty joke about all the fun times he had at the Ribbon, but he didn't want to make Pony nervous. The way he was combing his hair back and the steady tap of his feet against the tile told Soda his brother was nervous enough without being ribbed.

"Cathy?" Soda asked, jumping up on top of the sink, his feet banging against the cabinet.

"Yeah," Pony said, flicking water at his brother.

Soda met Cathy once, she seemed like a nice girl, she was quiet, but that would be just perfect for Pony who even on his best days wasn't given to the gift of gab.

Pony turned to his older brother, worried, "do you think I should wear more hair grease?" He pointed to his reddish-brown hair. Without the hair grease Pony had a slight cowlick that stuck up in his hair, just like Darry.

"Cathy doesn't have a problem with the hair grease," Pony went on, "but she's not greasy at all, I don't want her parents to blow a gasket when I first meet them."

Soda looked his brother in the eyes, "I think this Cathy chick is real lucky to have you, and if her parents can't see that, that ain't your problem, it's theirs. Besides, you don't wanna look like you just rolled out of bed." Thus spoke Tulsa's Vidal Sassoon.

Pony smiled and although his smile was plagued with self-doubt he confidently added more hair grease to his fly away strands of hair.

Now, if only he could think of a good explanation for the eye.

XXXXX

"Oh my God, Cathy you're bleeding!" Bonnie Carlson pulled her sister's hand by the wrist, the tip of her index and ring finger covered in blood.

Cathy winced of course she would run into Bonnie on her stealth trip to the bathroom. Bonnie was like a Jack in the Box, a pesky, loud Jack in the Box who always popped up at the worst times.

Cathy was relieved that the faded glow of the bathroom light did not show her red face, or the quickening of red she felt against her underwear.

"What happened to you?!" Bonnie Carlson shouted.

Jesus, Cathy thought, could Bonnie ever speak in a normal tone of voice?

"Shh," Cathy said harshly, "you'll wake up the baby, I just got a paper cut. Now move it."

Bonnie cracked up, "paper cut! Gosh Cathy you're the biggest square!" With her clean hand, Cathy pulled harshly on her sister's braid before pushing her and sending her flying towards the wall.

She quietly closed the bathroom door and ran her hand under the warm water, thoroughly cleaning with soap. Once clean she pulled out a sanity napkin from the cupboard below the sink.

What a night to get her period.

XXXXX

"Hello Mr. Carlson," Pony said and stuck out his hand.

Cathy's father didn't look anything like he imagined. Not that Pony had anything to compare him too, but he imagined him as a big man, the type who would tear him limb for limb if he was a minute late dropping Cathy back home.

Probably with a prison tattoo marked on his bulging forearm and a shot gun in his hand.

But Mr. Carlson with his sweater and plain slacks looked like a principal.

Which Pony decided was only a slightly better alternative.

Cathy's house was almost as poor looking on the outside as his own, but inside it was much neater; beer and Coke bottles didn't cover almost every inch of the coffee table and Mr. Carlson was almost like a figure from a Norman Rockwell painting compared to his dad's rougher exterior.

Pony felt slightly uncomfortable, though Mr. Carlson had done nothing to make him feel uncomfortable, besides being Cathy's dad of course. It was the same feeling he got when his middle class friends visited him after he got a concussion. With his leather jacket on, with the bruise courtesy of George flashing like a stop light that said: DON'T PASS GO, DON'T LET YOUR DAUGHTER DATE THIS HOOD he felt small and out of place.

He wish he didn't wear the leather jacket. He wasn't planning on, but it was chillier this evening than normal. He felt stupid, looking like a future JD when he met Cathy's parents for the first time.

Glory, Darry was right, he really didn't use his head.

Mrs. Carlson came out of the kitchen, a little kid, Christopher maybe, asking if he could go outside. "You had all afternoon to go outside, it's getting late, go play in your room." She gave her son a light pat on the bottom and ruffled his hair.

Pony smiled softly, her easy going firmness reminded Pony of his own mother. It was strange, every day he felt like he was moving away from the horrible nauseating grief that became his companion since the day his parents died, yet sometimes he could see his mother flash before his eyes, and it was that horrible night all over again.

But sometimes, it was nice to remember her.

"You cold son?" Mr. Carlson asked in a polite if slightly incredulous tone.

Pony shook his head, feeling slightly embarrassed, "no sir."

Mr. Carlson asked him about school, what classes he liked, what kind of grades he got, if he was going out for any sports. He didn't ask about his family and Pony figured that Cathy told him that his parents were dead. He was grateful for that, he still didn't like talking about his parents. It still hurt too much.

Mrs. Carlson lightly tapped he husband's arm, "alright, enough with the interrogation, you're gonna give the poor boy a heart attack."

Mr. Carlson sighed, but stopped the questioning.

"Looks like you passed the test, Ponyboy," Mrs. Carlson said in a thick southern accent that was warm and welcoming.

"Now where is that daughter of mine? Ya have to excuse her Pony, you know how us girls have to make a fuss when we have a date with a handsome gentleman," she winked.

Pony did not know how girls had to make a fuss but he nodded, "it's no problem, Mrs. Carlson."

He rose from his chair, the way his father had taught all three boys, when Mrs. Carlson left the room.

Mr. Carlson's eyes rose slightly in surprise, but he quickly edged up from his armchair as well.

He gave Pony a smile, Ponyboy Curtis had won him over.

Cathy walked into the living room, she had on a pair of pants, a cute blouse and a sweater that didn't look thick enough. Pony stood up, she looked even cuter in slacks than in her dress.

"Don't get any paper cuts!" A little girl called out and Cathy turned an odd shade of crimson before shaking her head, "family joke" she said to Pony with a nervous laugh. She quickly closed the door behind them.

XXXXX

"Is a Coke fine?" Pony asked as he stood up, his change jingling in his pocket.

Cathy had an awful craving for a root beer float, but those were expensive, and she didn't want to be demanding. She smiled, "that sounds perfect."

Cathy adjusted her seat and looked out at the strip of highway known as the Ribbon. Even with the weather getting colder the Ribbon was always busy; the hot dog stand, arcade, and other joints along the road over stuffed with teenagers. On the side of the road beer bottles, used condoms and even a hypodermic needle or two gave proof of some of the other activity that took place in the seedier underbelly of this teenage wasteland.

Cathy knew that sometimes the Ribbon could be trouble, there was always a fight or two that was bound the break out, but there was also something exciting about the place where hormones and greasy food mixed in such a combustible way adults called it "the Restless Ribbon."

It was even more exciting to be there with Pony Curtis.

Pony returned balancing a tray with two chili dogs, fries and two Cokes.

Pony was a quiet guy, at first that was awkward, the long pauses between bites, the friendly but uncomfortable nods between them.

At the Carlson table between Bonnie and the little boys, Cathy hardly had any chance to say anything, so it was a shift being the center of attention. In the back of her mind her long embedded fear that she was too plain, too boring ,to hold anyone's attention kept on nudging through her mind.

Then just as she was telling him about the art project she was working on, she felt normally hunched shoulders relax and her fast paced voice slow down.

Holy shit. He was listening.

Someone, not just someone, but a boy, an attractive boy at that was actually interested in what she had to say; or at least he was giving an Oscar winning performance. No one, except M&M and now maybe Ella, ever really listened to Cathy. Her mother tried, but with seven children her attention was sliced and diced into tiny bite sized morsels.

Then Cathy realized something else. She was enjoying herself. She was making jokes and Pony was laughing. Out here in the chilly October evening, his leather jacket wrapped around her shoulders, stuffing her mouth with chili dog and fries, she was having a good time.

That almost never happened. It wasn't that Cathy was a stick in the mud or that she enjoyed raining on people's parades, but Cathy knew that was going to go wrong almost always did.

Pony seemed to read her mind, "pretty good first date, huh?"

"Oh it's not my first date," Cathy said with self-assurance. Cathy hadn't told anyone in her family, not even M&M about her brief summer fling with Mike, it was one secret she preferred to hold on tightly. It wasn't a scandal or anything, but she liked the idea of having something, of having _someone_ she didn't have to share with anyone.

Her entire life she shared, for once she liked having something that belonged only to her.

She also liked the idea of quiet, shy Cathy Carlson having a secret boyfriend. No one would expect it. It made her feel older, cooler. She bet even Evie Martin never had a secret fling.

Pony grinned but laugh nervously, "oh. Well, I'm still having a good time."

"Me too," Cathy quickly said and sucked on her straw until she reached the bottom of the bottle. She was too damn honest.

"Hello!" A voice called out with exaggerated friendliness.

Vickie.

XXXXX

Like a dreaded swamp creature bubbling up from the toxic water, there she stood, hands on hips, a slight smile on her face.

"You know her?" Pony whispered. He knew Cathy was friendly with Bridget Stevens; he liked Bridget too, but Vickie Harper?

"I plead the fifth" Cathy said dryly and Pony hid a smirk. It was remarkable how much more comfortable Pony felt with Cathy when she got mouthy.

Cathy's eyes narrowed, but otherwise her face was perfectly even and expressionless. She was still seething at Vickie for starting a rumor about Evie, but she wasn't about to let the girl ruin her evening.

"Catherine, you look so lovely tonight," the tone saturated and patronizing was even more off putting than Vickie's normally sparkling personality.

Pony rose slightly when Vickie came over and she smiled at him in a way that was equally dismissive and charming.

"Such a gentleman, I'm impressed, Catherine."

"Thanks," Cathy said coolly. Pony's eyebrow shot up, subtlety asking her if she wanted him to intervene, but Cathy only shook her head.

"Oooh! Chili dogs how fun!" Vickie said with exaggerated delight. "Not that I would eat that, it just goes right to my hips, you're so fortunate to have those jumpers on hand. Really does a lovely job of hiding that pesky layer of chub, but don't worry in a few years you'll certainly have a lovely figure."

Pony's mouth dropped open, growing up with all brothers he was intimately familiar with the cruel punch of late night wrestling matches, but this type of verbal jujitsu insults was new to him.

Man, he much preferred getting punched. Pony felt helpless; if it was a guy who started laying into Cathy he'd have no problem flattening the asshole. But against a girl, especially a girl like Vickie Harper, Pony felt helpless. He couldn't swear at her, he never swore at chicks, even when they deserved it, certainly couldn't punch her; so his fingers, bunched up and angry but with no place to go, clenched the Coke bottle.

Cathy felt like she had been pistol whipped, it wasn't just the embarrassment of being called fat by Vickie Harper in front of her date, although Cathy wouldn't be rushing home to write _that_ detail in her diary, but it was the last line that threw Cathy for a loop. The way Vickie said it, "don't worry in a few years you'll certainly have a lovely figure" it was almost as if Vickie meant it. That was the worst thing about Vickie, Cathy decided. She was a snake, a horrible person, yet she was also capable of compliments that felt sincere.

Cathy also saw herself as head strong, yet why did a part of her feel a lulling comfort that came from being complimented by Vickie Harper of all people?

For the first time Cathy could see why someone as nice as Bridget could be friends with Vickie. But then Cathy thought of Evie and anger boiled up inside of her, threatening to spew chili dog all over Vickie's perfectly coifed hair.

"I think you better leave, Vickie" Pony's voice, sharp, sure, yet still polite and maybe a bit unsteady made Cathy smile. The way he glared at Vickie made Cathy smile as well. Mike was a nice guy, her first kiss, but he was, to be honest, a bit of a wimp.

Cathy liked the way Pony's voice wrapped around her, protecting her from Vickie's bitter tongue as much as his leather jacket kept the cold off he shoulders.

Vickie only smirked, seemingly enjoying the challenge. "Last time I checked this isn't Red China, but I appreciate you taking a _stab_ in the dark to defend your little friend."

It took everything in Pony not to jump up and lay into Vickie Harper, and Cathy looked burned with anger as well.

"Go jump in the lake" Cathy said hotly, but Vickie only let out a fake laugh.

"You really hurt my feelings dear, that tongue of yours is on _fire_ tonight, I'm just going to have to _drown_ my sorrows someplace else." Her words were directed towards Cathy, but time entire time she glared down hard at Pony.

Just as she was about to walk away she turned back towards Cathy and Pony one last time, "oh Pony, I'm really sorry what happened to Jonathan."

"Johnny," The anger in his tone dangerous and growling underneath his normal soft voice. Cathy reached out and put her hands on top of his. It sure was a cold night.

"Oh, I'm sorry," and once again, Vickie almost sounded sincere, "anyways, George says hi." She grinned at a girlfriend sitting on another bench.

"George?" Cathy asked quizzically.

"Forget about it," Pony said in a glum voice.

XXXXX

Cathy Carlson felt miserable, truly miserable. Her first date with Pony was a disaster she hated Vickie, truly hated her and now Pony would probably never want to go out with her again. She wouldn't blame her, if she was associated with Vickie Harper she wouldn't want anything to do with Cathy either.

She'd die a spinster or a cat lady. Or she'd become Aunt Rita with her creepy China dolls; the China dolls that would look at her with their glass eyes, judging her as she masturbated herself blind. Maybe she could call Mike back up? He was boring but at least he never heard of Vickie Harper.

Just as self-pity and despair threaten to shut Cathy's air passage and any hopes of future relationship tight, Cathy felt smooth lips touch hers. His lips were soft, gentle, slightly moist and locked around her mouth. Even the fact that their breath reeked like chili dogs didn't matter, there was something captivating about the way he kissed, sure, yet gentle. If this was his first kiss he was already a prodigy.

She felt as if all the art in the world had come to life and the vivid colors Georgia O'Keeffe used in her paintings were swirling in her mouth, her heart raced, everything was happening so fast, yet she felt it all. It was as if time had stood still and the noise on The Ribbon faded away.

Now all Cathy could taste was his kiss, it was both new yet familiar all at the same time. It was their first time kissing each other, but unlike her first kiss with Mike which involved them banging their heads together in a failed temp to get on the same rhythm; they were both on the same beat.

Slowly her mouth opened more, and his tongue moved ever so slowly into her mouth.

They pulled away and looked at each other and smiled, neither one saying anything. Pony took Cathy's hand and Cathy returned the squeeze of his hand. She could see the spark of the sky reflect in Pony's greenish tint eyes. It may be cold, but it was the coldest nights that brought out the stars.

XXXXX

S.E Hinton owns, we borrow


	16. Stranger in Paradise

_"_ _In every province, the chief occupations, in order of importance, are lovemaking, malicious gossip, and talking nonsense." –_ Voltaire, _Candide_

"C'mon, Ella! Let's see it."

Evie and Beth were sitting on the living room couch, both in their homecoming dresses. When their mother had insisted that Evie included her kid sister in her and Ella's little fashion show, Evie wasn't exactly thrilled, but Beth hadn't made an ass of herself (yet), so she supposed it was alright. As long as she didn't get too nosy with any of their business. Beth had wanted to show off her dress first, what Evie believed to be a pink monstrosity, but Ella seemed to fall in love with on sight. But Ella didn't exactly have the most fashion-forward sense of style, Evie reminded herself. Which was a shame, because she would be really quite pretty if she put a little effort into her style. Then Evie had shown them her green one, and she was very pleased to see both Beth and Ella nodding vigorously in approval.

Now it was Ella's turn, but it seemed as if the girl was having second thoughts.

"Just…give me a moment!" She called, and both Evie and Beth groaned and flopped back, the fabric of their dresses rustling.

"She's such a square," Beth mumbled, and Evie kicked her.

"Shut up. She doesn't mean to be awkward," Evie tried to explain.

"Whatever," Beth sighed. "This better be worth the wait. I thought you guys were just partners for a project. When did you become such good friends?"

Evie shrugged, but Beth did have a point. Since when were she and Ella friends? Who knew, but that's how Evie thought of her in her head. She couldn't say she minded, really. "I don't know. These things just happen."

"So what about Sylvia and Kathy?" Beth asked. "Are you not friends with them anymore?"

That was a fair question. Things in that group had really been in shambles since Sandy had been shipped off to Florida. Not that they had particularly strong foundations to begin with; they were really only friends because of who their boyfriends were, and Kathy and Two-Bit weren't together (at least, for now – who knew where that would go, no matter what either of them said), and neither were Dallas and Sylvia. Sandy and Soda certainly weren't, which hurt Evie the most; she and Sandy had been best friends since grade school, and then _that_ happened, and it had hit Evie like a truck when she'd found out. Really, Evie had been hanging around Bridget and Ella and Cathy a lot more as of late. Sylvia had stayed over that one night a little while ago, but that was probably because she had just needed a place to crash. And Kathy had been hanging around the girls who associated themselves with the guys in her brother's gang more and more. Though, she had spoken to her a little while ago, and it seemed that the girl was still feeling scorned by Mathews, and she had some suspicions about who he was into…and suffice it to say that Evie didn't know quite how to feel when Kathy had told her who. And then when she'd seen them together the other day, they'd both made it pretty clear how they felt about this whole nomination business. Evie didn't particularly want to be nominated, but she knew it would be a whole lot worse if she dropped out. Like _that_ wouldn't look suspicious as hell.

"I don't know," Evie admitted. "I don't know if we ever really were."

"But you and Sandy were."

"Yeah," Evie said quietly. "We were."

"Well, even if Ella is kinda a square, she seems real nice," Beth said, backtracking on her earlier statement. "And I heard you were hanging out with Cathy Carlson? I heard she's nice…her little brother, M&M, is cool. And I heard Steve mention someone named Bridget Stevens?"

Evie raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you talk to Steve?"

"I don't! And trust me, I don't wanna! I just overheard him saying something about her the other day when he dropped you off…he sure seems to hate 'er…I've seen her around school, though, and anyone who can afford that cute plaid dress she wore the other day must be alright."

Well, that was sound logic. "I wouldn't exactly call us friends. But she's alright." That was about what Evie's opinion of Stevens amounted to now: she was alright. And that's all it ever needed to be, right? They were like business partners. They didn't need to be the best of friends to make this work.

"I think I heard Daddy say he saw her father in one of the buildings he cleans," Beth went on. She sure was getting good at this whole eavesdropping business.

"How would you know that was who he was talking about?"

" _Because_ ," Beth drawled, and left her reasoning at that. "He seems to think he's a very stressed-out man."

That was just confusing. What would Dr. Stevens have to be stressed about? He had money; a good, real job; and his daughter already had a positive reputation. What would he have to be stressed about? What would anybody from that side of town have to worry about? They certainly didn't have to worry about the same things Evie's family had to. There was a big difference in fretting over a tear in a new dress when you have the money to replace it, and being devastated over a tear in an old dress because the most you can afford to do is try to patch it up.

"Holy cow, Ella!"

Evie snapped out of her thoughts and saw Ella standing shyly before the sisters, hands clasped in front of her. The dress had come out quite nicely, with the new hem coming up a few inches above Ella's knees. Pitch black and sleeveless with a high neck, Ella looked almost refined in it. Evie and Beth both stood up to inspect, while Ella tried not to squirm under their scrutiny.

"Well I'll be damned, Ella Mitchell!" Evie gasped. "Craig won't know what hit 'im!"

"You really redid the hem yourself?" Beth asked, and Ella nodded.

"It's not hard," she shrugged. "And it's not like I was going to wear this anywhere else, and it saved money."

"Ma, come lookit Ella's dress!" Beth called towards the kitchen as Evie continued to turn a circle around the girl, making sure everything was even. It was good work.

Mrs. Martin came out of the kitchen and nodded at Ella's dress. "Very nice. New?" She asked.

Ella shook her head. "Hemmed an old one."

Mrs. Martin looked impressed and walked over to do some inspecting of her own. Ella didn't know how much she could take from the three Martin women. "See, girls?" The girls' mother began, and Evie and Beth exchanged eye-rolls. "Repurposing can work just fine," she grinned, then leaned in and said to Ella confidentially (not), "Those two _insisted_ they needed new dresses."

"It's my first real school dance!" Beth whined. Mrs. Martin waved her off.

"Oh, hush. You girls all look very nice," she said, and sauntered back into the kitchen. Evie turned back to Ella.

"You really look nice," she told her friend. "Seriously. And after we do your hair and everything, Craig won't be able to keep his hands off ya! And if you'd like, you could borrow a pair of my shoes. We look about the same size."

Ella looked to her bare feet, and after mentally going through her shoes, nodded. "That would be great," she grinned.

Evie smiled back, but there was also a pit in her stomach. It had nothing to do with Ella, but with what Beth and her mother had said. Talk of money had always unnerved Evie; she knew that they weren't necessarily the best-off, that nearly everyone she was friends with struggled. Since Steve's mother was out of the picture, Mr. Randle struggled financially, and Steve tried to help, but there was a new tension between them that hadn't always been there. And the Curtis brothers, they'd never really had money, but now Darrel worked two jobs, and Sodapop had dropped out to work fulltime. Two-Bit Mathews' mother worked relentlessly after her husband had up and left. Sylvia and Kathy and even Sandy had never had much. She was used to it. Evie knew the score. But that didn't mean she didn't try to ignore it sometimes. Like when she wanted a new dress just _because_. Girls like Bridget could get new dresses whenever she wanted, so excuse Evie if she didn't really care about her father being " _a very stressed-out man_."

But that didn't stop her from being curious.

Later that night, as her father was getting ready for work, Evie asked him if he'd heard of a Dr. Stevens working at the same university where he was a custodian. She mentioned that this would be his first semester, and a bit what he looked like. Her father thought for a moment before perking up just slightly and nodding his head.

"Yeah, think I've met the guy," he shrugged. "Works in one of the buildings I cover. Nice fella, seems to work late a lot." Something twisted in Evie's stomach when he said that. "Why ya ask, sugar?"

Evie swallowed. "I, uh, know his daughter. We're working together on something for school, and she mentioned something about it."

"Yeah, he's a good man," her father went on as he looked for his keys. "Teaches…history, or sum'im…yeah, nice guy. Talked to him once on one'a the nights he was in late, gradin' papers or somethin'. He's worried about his daughter cuz they just moved here and all."

"Oh," she whispered.

"You might give her a friendly word every now and then, since you know her."

"Alright," Evie said, her voice quiet. "Well, if you see 'im, tell him to say 'hi' to Bridget for me."

Her father nodded distractedly and kissed the top of her head, and he was off.

XXXXX

Vickie Harper was cool. Meaning, in this context, unflappable. (Vickie Harper was also just a bit diabolical, but that's not necessarily how she thought of herself.) So juggling a few different conversations at once and keeping her facts straight wasn't exactly her idea of a challenge. So Vickie picked up the phone and leaned back on her bed, phone held to her ear with her shoulder while she went to work filing her nails into that perfect squoval.

"What about Lucy?"

Cherry sighed on the other end of the line. _"Probably not? I mean, people still remember that fiasco from over the summer at Peter Schmidt's party. Remember?"_

Vickie made a face. Boy, did she remember that. "Yeah," she sighed. "Well, that's probably for the best, then."

" _You know, it's just homecoming. It's really not a big deal. Not as big a deal as prom, anyways."_

Vickie rolled her eyes. "Doesn't mean I don't want to win."

 _"_ _Right_ ," Cherry scoffed. " _You know, everyone is saying that Evie Martin rigged it so that she was a nominee. You think that's true?_ "

Well, Vickie knew for a fact that it wasn't true, but she wasn't about to tell Cherry that, especially with Two-Bit Mathews getting suspicious, and that ditz Ella Mitchell. And Vickie knew what Cherry did earlier in the fall after Bob died, how she was their "spy." How much more ridiculous could she get? "Wouldn't surprise me. I mean, c'mon, a girl like that? She'll get whatever attention she can get, whenever she can get it."

 _"_ _Yeah…I don't know, though…_ "

Vickie scowled, even though she had no one to direct it at except for at herself through her vanity mirror. "Ya know, I just remembered I told Bridget I'd call her…see you tomorrow!"

Cherry tried to stop her, but Vickie hung up and quickly dialed Bridget, hoping she'd pick up the phone and not her father. _"Hello, Bridget Stevens speaking._ "

Bingo! Vickie grinned. "What's up, Bee Stevens?"

Bridget was silent for a moment. _"Don't call me that. Two-Bit Mathews insists on calling me that –_ "

"I know," Vickie purred. "He's your number-one fan. Gonna give Jerry a run for his money."

 _"_ _Yeah, sure. Do you need something, Vickie?_ "

"Can't a girl call her friend?"

" _Well, of course she can…anything in particular on your mind?"_

Vickie sighed. "Well, Cherry's really getting on my nerves…she seems to think that maybe Evie Martin _wasn't_ the one who rigged the homecoming ballot."

Another pause. " _Oh. Well, I mean, I'd heard the rumors...maybe she didn't?_ "

Suspicions confirmed. Vickie dropped her nail file and sat up straighter. "What would make you think that?"

 _"_ _I don't know. I just don't have any proof_."

"Well, just look at the sort of girl she is! That's proof enough. No matter what Two-Bit Mathews thinks."

Uh-oh. That was an unexpected slip-up. " _You talked to him?_ "

"Not because I wanted to! He cornered me. Isn't that what he does to you?"

 _"_ _I guess…"_ Bridget sighed. " _Well, she probably won't even win. So. Yeah._ "

"Right." Vickie's blood was boiling. So not only were Mathews and Mitchell suspicious, but she was getting the feeling her _beloved_ campaign manager was, too. "You know, some people think it's odd that you're on the ballot, too, being new and all."

Vickie could practically hear Bridget's shoulders slump. " _Oh. To be fair, I was pretty surprised, too. It's a nice surprise, though. I wonder who would even nominate me."_

"Yeah, me too."

Vickie could hear Bridget swallow roughly – yuck! " _Right. It's a nice honor and all, but I probably have no chance of winning."_

No. No, she really didn't.

XXXXX

Bridget knew when to ask for help. She knew it bothered some people, but not her. What bothered her was the situation; this wasn't just asking for help on a calculus assignment, or asking to have a section of a piano piece played for her so she could know what sound to aim for. No, this was all very different, much more…shrewd. Thankfully, she knew someone who had no qualms getting their hands dirty, so after school, she approached Two-Bit, who actually seemed glad to see her.

"You're gettin' pretty bold, Miz Stevens, approaching me like this," Two-Bit said, stance defiant but his expression betraying that.

"Oh, hush up," she said. Then, more sweetly, "Walk me to my locker?"

If she didn't know better, she'd say the surprised look on Two-Bit's face was accompanied with a faint blush. "Uh. Sure. Yeah," he said weakly, and walked with her.

"I have a question for you," Bridget said as she began spinning her combination.

"Shoot."

"Vickie told me you spoke to her the other day. Why?"

Two-Bit's expression darkened a bit. "Right. Well, I had to give her a talkin' to cuz I've got my suspicions she's the one got Evie nominated."

"And I can pretty much confirm that for you," Bridget said coolly, though Two-Bit noticed her shaking hands. "Speaking as her…friend, and all. She wouldn't spread that rumor if she wasn't trying to deflect suspicion – that's what Cherry said."

"Oh, well if _Cherry_ says so…"

Two-Bit raised an eyebrow and smirked wryly, and Bridget returned it with a shaky smile. "I'm trying here, Two-Bit."

"I know you are."

"Are you going to take care of this?"

"Are _you_?"

"Again – trying. That's why I'm talking to you in the first place."

"But you'd rather _I_ get my hands dirty while you orchestrate."

Bridget closed her eyes and sighed. "Don't say it like that. You make me sound like a crooked mob boss."

"Who's to say you're not?" He joked, and Bridget scowled. "Fine, fine. Look, don't worry about it – Randle is already on mine and Dally's asses about all this, so don't worry, okay? It's handled. Or, it will be. Trust me, I don't wanna see Clayton or Harper win any more than you do after this stunt." And for about a billion other reasons, too.

Bridget gave a short nod. "Good." She pulled out her Lit book, hoping to get some work done on her English project tonight – Dad was letting her use the typewriter. Lucy had really been dragging her feet, especially after she had found out the Bridget had gone on and read _Candide_. Bridget was stuck doing this project practically on her own. She sighed shakily.

"What's up?"

Bridget considered not telling him, but…he _was_ her friend and all… "This is all just getting exhausting."

"What is?"

She gestured vaguely. " _This_. Vickie is wearing me out, and Evie…"

"That's another thing – why're you so concerned with Evie anyways?"

Bridget pursed her lips. "We're…acquaintances."

"Uh-huh."

"We are!" Bridget insisted. "But…but all of this is ridiculous, this entire fall. What with…with Bob and…and _your_ friend…" Then, more quietly, "I didn't even want to come here in the first place."

Two-Bit bit his lip and watched this poor girl standing next to him. Of course, he'd never tell her that it's turned out that he's actually happy to have met her, but he got it. This whole fucking town…it was like some sort of disease. "Here's what we'll do." Two-Bit leaned up against the locker next to Bridget's, hands spreading before him as he launched into his grand scheme, eyeing the distance and grinning like the dickens. "You and I will skip out, hop into my truck, and run off, just you an' me, and find someone who'll marry us –"

"Two-Bit! I do _not_ want to _marry_ you!"

Two-Bit reared back as if he'd been hit, but he was smiling like he thought she was just the funniest damn person. "Oh, _Bridget_. You _wound_ me! How could you even think of turning down such a decent proposal? You don't know how many more you'll get," He said sternly, wagging a finger in her face. Bridget playfully scowled.

"I'm sure I'll find somebody," she assured him. "Are you going to homecoming?"

"Homecoming?" Two-Bit repeated. " _Hell_ no. I've just about had my fill of it."

"How's that?"

"Well, ol' Dally got into some trouble and got stuck on the design committee" – Bridget raised an eyebrow, and Two-Bit huffed – "I know. Anyways, he started bitchin' about it, so I says to him, 'Hey, I'll join ya, keep ya company,' which I don't think he fully appreciated, but what's done is done. It's all over and ready for ya now, peach. 'Sides, they mostly just used me for grunt work." Two-Bit then proceeded to roll up his sleeve and flex, and then actually grunted. Bridget laughed (which made him laugh), but yeah, she had to admit, he wasn't exactly a slouch. She shook her head, again marveling at the fact that she had a _type_. Two-Bit was built much the same as Jerry, who was Will Rogers' star quarterback. It confused her to no end.

"Unbelievable."

"I know!"

"No, not Dallas! _You_. You're such a bum, I don't see how you stay so…so…"

" _So fucking ripped?_ "

Bridget slapped his arm hard, which sent Two-Bit into hysterics. "You should watch your mouth."

"Oh, yeah? Like you're a saint," he laughed. "Good _God_. Oh, I wasn't always a bum, Stevens, that gene didn't rear its ugly head 'til recently. These days, it prolly has somethin' to do with all the twerps I dole out beatin's to. You should see my buddy Darry, though. That guy's built like a brick house. Couldn't knock 'im over if ya _tried_."

Bridget finally closed her locker. They were alone at the end of the day, the two of them in this empty hallway, and he was grinning contentedly down at her, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the lockers. At that moment, Bridget recognized that even for as annoying as he was, he was really and truly her friend, and she didn't doubt that.

"You oughta take a picture, it'll last longer."

"Huh?"

Two-Bit bit his lip, trying and failing to cover up a grin. "You're staring, kid."

"Oh." She blushed. "Sorry."

"Aw, don't be. I know I'm a _sight_ ," he drawled. "Hey, can I give ya a lift? Since we're both on our way out, and all."

"Sure." Bridget didn't even think twice about it, just followed him. "Yeah, sure. Jerry has…" She sighed, "football, and I don't have to stay after today – "

"Hey, you don't have to justify it to me. If you want a ride, I'm willin', but the train's leavin' the station, peach."

So Bridget followed him out of the school and to his truck, wishing desperately for a car of her own (while also secretly hoping he'd never stop offering). "Two-Bit?"

He was busy putting on sunglasses and starting the car. "That's my name."

"Do you know who Angela Shepard is?"

Two-Bit was laughing before she even finished saying the mysterious girl's name. Bridget furrowed her brows in confusion – what was so funny about Angela Shepard? "Do I know who _Angela Shepard_ is?" He repeated, still laughing. He was probably going to run them off the road the way he was going on. "You're real funny, honey – I knew I kept you around for a reason."

Bridget scowled. "I'm serious! Do you know who she is? Because she's supposed to come over to my house – "

Suddenly, things weren't so funny. Two-Bit shot her a look, trying to look at this poor, naïve girl next to him and the road at the same time. "You invited that li'l' vixen over to your _house?_ "

" _I_ didn't invite her – _Evie Martin_ did."

"Why the hell is Evie invitin' people over to your house? Y'all ain't friends."

He went on to say something about how Angela was somehow dangerous, but Bridget crossed her arms and tuned him out. She wanted to tell him that wasn't true, that they _were_ friends, that she and Cathy and Ella had come over to her house and they'd sat on her bed and talked about normal things – about fashion and music and boys and dances – and that they _were_ , they _were_ friends, that all that she was doing for this "salon" must be enough to get Evie's forgiveness, and all of their friendship. Because one day, Bridget knew, she may not lose Cherry or Marcia or Missy – God willing – but one day, Bridget would probably lose Vickie. And maybe that would be for the best, but she wanted someone waiting in the wings. Selfishly, so selfishly, she did not want to be alone ever again.

"I _told_ you - I'm helping her with something," Bridget explained. "I offered up my house to do it at. She's doing a bunch of girls' hair. For homecoming."

At a stoplight, Two-Bit groaned and dramatically threw his head back and ran his hands through his hair. "Somebody call up Lyndon Johnson. We don't need no more troops over in Vietnam - come Saturday night, we gon' need 'em _here_."

XXXXX

Bridget didn't call Lyndon Johnson.

But she did call in reinforcements.

XXXXX

It was only her second visit, but Cathy knew that Bridget's house was the sort of place she could get used to being at. Going to Bridget's was probably like going to the Louvre, Cathy figured, with all the stuff that her father had. All those books and paintings and expensive-looking things…she could easily picture herself living in a house like this and being completely comfortable. Bridget had invited her and Ella over after school, and now Cathy and Ella were going up the front walk again. Evie was conspicuously missing.

"Do you think they're mad at each other again?" Ella asked.

Cathy snorted. "They stopped being mad at each other?"

"They weren't the other day…"

Ella just trailed off. Cathy knocked on the door; they could both hear music playing on the other side, something about a garden that wasn't such a paradise just a moment ago. Dr. Stevens again greeted them at the door, and he seemed to recognize them, too; he went ahead and told them to go upstairs where Bridget was. The two girls found her in her room, playing her own record. Dr. Stevens had been playing _Kismet_ ( _"For some most mysterious reason, this is not the garden I know…"_ ) _;_ Bridget was playing Irma Thomas. ( _"I'll never, never, breakaway from you!"_ )

"Why didn't you invite Evie?" Cathy asked, right off the bat. Bridget sighed and stood up, turning off the record.

"Because we have to talk about her, that's why."

That would explain the urgent SOS both Ella and Cathy had received. Bridget had frantically made phone calls to each girl (she had been very frustrated when Mrs. Carlson picked up at first instead of Cathy), telling them to come over immediately. Bridget could be very no-nonsense and intimidating when she wanted to be, so Ella made quick time in getting over to the Carlson's and picking up her friend, probably breaking the speed limit on the way over to the west side.

Bridget flopped down on her bed with a long exhale. "I talked to Two-Bit Mathews today."

Cathy raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't like him."

Bridget stared at Cathy for a moment, nearly fessed up, but thought better of it. "He's…well, he's good in this sort of situation."

"What sort of situation would that be?" Ella asked. Bridget rolled her eyes.

"This whole _situation_ ," she said vaguely, gesturing around her with her hands. "With homecoming! I…well, he and Dallas Winston, they're cocksure that Vickie rigged the nominations to get Evie on the list. What none of us knows exactly is _why_."

Cathy snorted and found a spot at Bridget's vanity, and Ella awkwardly lowered herself into the rocking chair. "Of course we know why. Vickie knows what Evie's doing, with the hair and makeovers for the dance, and she knows that you're helping her and letting her do your hair, and she's mad about it," Cathy explained simply. Bridget sighed and started twirling a finger around a ringlet.

"I don't understand it here most days. I don't know how you all live in this limbo. I don't know why Vickie cares so damn much…even after…" Bridget pursed her lips; she really didn't understand. What made _here_ different? There were poor and rich people everywhere you went. What did it matter? "Well, I guess that explains it," she sighed. "And I guess I knew that, probably."

"Probably," Cathy agreed, sounding wise beyond her years.

"So…you're _not_ mad at Evie?" Ella asked. Bridget smirked.

"No," she assured the two girls. "I'm not. But I don't know what to do! Two-Bit said something vague about 'taking care of it', but I don't know what that means," Bridget explained miserably. "He didn't even know that I had suspicions of my own, you know?"

"Why don't you ask him and Winston to fix it so that you win?" Cathy suggested. "That way, Vickie doesn't get her way, and Evie won't get embarrassed."

"It's not that _simple_." Bridget smeared her hands down her face, and was mortified to realize that she was actually starting to cry. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. _God_ , she thought (prayed?), _can you let me get through one day? One fucking day? One day without having to deal with this overblown high school bullshit?_ But of course, she'd never say that out loud. "I started all this," she whispered into her hands.

Ella and Cathy exchanged confused, worried looks. That was ominous. "What did you say?" Ella asked, voice gentle.

When Bridget pulled her hands away from her face, both girls could see the tears rolling down her cheeks. But even when crying, Bridget seemed to be able to remain poised and unruffled. Talk about a (fairly) stiff upper lip. "I started all this," she repeated, voice thick. Then she nodded, like it was all coming together for her now. "Yeah, I did. If I had never been mean to Evie in front of everybody, this never would have happened."

Cathy was confused. This wasn't just Bridget and Evie who were in this, it was Cathy and Ella, too. "That's just not possible," she insisted. "Because we all still would have met each other."

"Maybe," Bridget allowed, "but then I wouldn't have felt guilted into paying for everything and letting her use my house."

There it was. It was out there, in the open now. Bridget's face crumpled a bit, and she bit back a sob, knowing that if her father heard her, he'd come barging in and start demanding details. Ella and Cathy sat there miserably, too, letting the statement sink in, wondering if all of this had been a façade after all, at least between Evie and Bridget, that things were getting better between them. Maybe they were being friendly just for business matters. Did she actually like any of them? Or was she just feeling guilty, and trying to make up for it? If Bridget had just said " _I'm sorry_ ", then none of them would probably be in this mess. Vickie would have left them alone, and everything could just be _normal_ , as messed up as normal was.

"Why wouldn't you want to be homecoming queen?" Ella suddenly asked. Cathy and Bridget shot her odd looks. "Well, I mean, doesn't it feel nice to be nominated?"

"I guess…"

"Then why wouldn't it feel nice to win?"

 _Because then they'd all hate me. Vickie and Evie and Two-Bit and probably the two of you, too._ "It's just…it's just a _popularity contest_ ," Bridget sneered. "Really, I don't care if I do or don't win, but people like Vickie want it more. That's how she is. Let her have it! And nobody knows me…they'd all just start whispering about how Bee Stevens pulled off the upset of the century."

" _Bee?"_ Cathy snorted. "Who calls you _that_?"

"Two-Bit Mathews," Bridget said quietly. "But don't you go callin' me that, or I'll slug you." There was a tense beat of silence, but then Bridget smiled through her tears and the other two girls relaxed.

"But we can't let Vickie have it now," Ella said quietly, thinking back to the last unfortunate conversation she'd had with that firecracker. "Not after she cheated to get it, and not after trying to humiliate Evie."

"Bridget, I'm sure you could do _something_ ," Cathy implored. "Vickie seems to trust you, so maybe you should use that to your advantage."

"But there's only a couple days left to vote," Ella said. "And Vickie's rumor seems to have picked up a lot of traction already. What's left to do?"

Bridget ran her thumb over her lips as Cathy and Ella went back and forth, trying to find a plan to counteract Vickie's. Her thumb came away covered in glittery lip gloss. She thought of it all, of all these girls coming to her house on Friday and Saturday, of cheering at the game and riding in the convertibles and in the parade, and having to stand up on stage in front of nearly the entire student body and either have to endure the feeling of utter defeat of watching Vickie win, or the secondhand embarrassment of Evie winning. And she and Cherry and Lucy would stand by, helpless to it all. Bridget was happy enough being a homecoming princess, she didn't need to be queen. Vickie needed it for whatever reason – or maybe she just wanted it; thought she needed it. Nothing could be further from the truth, though; she didn't need it, would never need it.

She wouldn't need it in a million years.

"Bridget?"

Bridget looked up. "Hm?"

"There's nothing left to do…is there?" Cathy asked, looking hopeless. Bridget wanted to start crying again at the sight of her face.

"I don't think there is," Bridget whispered. "She'd never pass up winning, but…but she already got what she wanted. She got Evie nominated and framed her for it. She's already won."

Which felt like the biggest let-down of the century.

"Why can't you stop her?" Ella asked, sounding confused. "Why…why can't _we_ stop her?"

"Because it's already done," Cathy answered for Bridget. "Like, I get it's not the end of the world, but…but Evie never deserved this."

 _Steve Randle is going to kill me,_ Bridget thought. _He is going to pin this on me somehow, and he and Dallas Winston are going to kill me. Steve will have good reason to – Dallas will be there just for kicks._ "Have either of you ever thought of telling your parents about this stuff?" Both girls shook their heads. "Because I sure have. It's like none of them notice unless it's brought to their attention! Vickie shouldn't be able to get away with something like this, and that whole fiasco with Bob Sheldon wouldn't have ever happened if any of them had just paid attention!" Bridget was getting heated. "But I can just picture it, me telling my father, and then him telling me that this is just what girls do, that this isn't important, but it _is_. It's important because Vickie wants to humiliate Evie. And what would he know, anyway?"

"My parents wouldn't get it," Cathy said. "But if what's happening to Evie was happening to me and I told my parents, my father would probably go off."

"My father is much too reasonable for anything like that," Bridget said, snorting at the thought of her father _going off_. "He'd probably just march down to the front office and demand to speak with Principal Vernon."

"That's still something," Ella said.

"What would your dad do?"

It got very silent for a moment. Cathy exchanged a look with Ella. Ella just looked up so she wouldn't have to look anyone in the eye. "I don't know my father," Ella whispered to the ceiling.

Well. This visit certainly wasn't anything like the last one, Cathy mused.

"I don't know my mother," Bridget said quietly in response.

Ella met Bridget's eyes. Those eyes of hers were saying something, too: _I understand, Ella, and I understand that it's the worst feeling in the world. I understand what it means to be left behind, too. And I'm sorry I don't know what to do about any of this. I'm sorry I don't know how to fix this. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough to know how._ Cathy could read that, too, but instead Bridget said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

Ella shook her head. She knew her friend would understand when she said, "Don't be. There aren't any memories, anyway."

The air seemed to get sucked out of the room. Cathy and Ella could see that Bridget stood up, but it was like she was moving through water, and her voice sounded that way to Ella's ears when she again said that she was sorry, but she didn't know what to do. She just didn't.

XXXXX

Back in the day – "the day" being not so long ago, really, just late last year – the Curtis household could have any given combination of nine people in it at one time, give or take. A real hub of activity, the house was, for any number of reasons. But things change, and what used to be now almost never was. Dallas was avoiding the house like the plague – or, more accurately, like every member of the house had the plague, and he was either the next victim or the doctor in the strange mask that was coming to bleed them out, suck them dry, and leave them for dead, even if he meant no harm.

Things change.

"Wish it weren't rainin'," Soda observed, watching out the window. "Cruisin' just ain't fun when it's rainin'."

"So come play cards," Steve called, already two games in with Two-Bit. Oklahoma Gin was the favorite, though Steve had learned Euchre, a Midwestern staple, from his parents, and tried to get the guys in on it sometimes. None of them really went in for it. They were all notorious cheats, too, Two-Bit and Soda especially, even if they could play honest and clean up. It was just a way to pass the time. Because what the hell else were they supposed to do?

Soda sighed in defeat and joined the rest of them at the table. "Deal me in," he said, and they did.

Darry wasn't in the greatest of moods, either, the rain having canceled his work earlier in the day, but leaving him _wide_ open to head in for his second job that evening. He couldn't decide if working all day or being teased with a day off was worse. And Steve, well, he was pissed about this whole homecoming fiasco with Evie and this Vickie Harper bitch. Vickie was sure getting under Two-Bit's craw, too, but not completely for Evie's sake – if he had to watch her boss around Bridget much longer, he might really have to throw hands with a chick. Then there was Ponyboy, who was blissfully unaware of just about everything, especially now that his mind could dwell on better things, like Cathy. It seemed the universe had cut the kid _some_ slack – finally! So while Dallas was missing and Pony was off in one of his forty-six daydream universes, everyone else was just _pissed_.

"I've got a few minutes," Darry sighed as he sat beside his brother. "Deal me in, too."

Two-Bit obliged. "Glad to have ya, Darrel."

"Yeah, yeah."

The four of them played in near silence while Ponyboy sat on the floor in front of the fireplace with the comics spread out in front of him. The Peanuts gang sure had their hands full with Linus and his Great Pumpkin business. Pony shook his head and glanced over at the table of card players; he knew what it was like to have ridiculous friends.

"Y'all think it's kinda stupid to have homecoming the same weekend as Halloween?"

The four at the table glanced over at Ponyboy. Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow. "What? Ya worried the Great Pumpkin won't stop by your patch if there's a football game in the way?"

While everyone else laughed, Pony just rolled his eyes. It was like he was living out his life perpetually at the kid's table in this proverbial Thanksgiving. "Homecoming's the twenty-ninth and thirtieth, dummy. Halloween's on Sunday."

"Well, my bad," Two-Bit sighed clearly not caring. "But Lordy, if Sadie plays _You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown_ one more time, I'mma end the whole damn production."

" _Happiness is morning and evening, daytime and nighttime too-oo-oo!_ " Sodapop sang, making himself laugh. "Which production?"

"Mine," Two-Bit snapped, then smacked his card down on the table. This rain seemed to be making everybody restless.

"Speakin' of homecoming," Steve began, "Two-Bit, did you and Dally, uh – "

"We're workin' on it," Two-Bit said shortly, glancing over at Steve. "Ponykid, you got any cigarettes?" Pony tossed him his pack, and the boys around the table lit up. Darry didn't, but he bummed a few drags off Soda's. The air above them turned blue in the dim, yellow light.

"What's Evie think about the whole thing?" Soda asked.

"Man, I don't know," Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair and then smearing it down his face. "I guess she's pissed, but…well, she's got this whole _business_ goin' on top of it all – "

"Business?" Darry cut in.

"She's doin' a bunch of gals' hair and makeup or whatever before the dance. Friday night and Saturday afternoon at that soc girl's house."

"Bee Stevens?" Two-Bit 'guessed', remember his conversation from earlier with the girl and feeling the pit in his stomach grow. Steve snapped and pointed at him.

"Yeah, that bitch. She offered it up. Hell if I know why, they ain't friends. But she's been hangin' out on the west side, and now she's got this whole nomination… _thing_ to deal with – "

"They're all gonna end up votin' for that Harper chick," Darry said tiredly, having seen a list of nominees in Janine Johnston's glorified gossip column, and knowing Vickie Harper's rep. "I don't see why you're so worried 'bout it."

Steve pursed his lips. "Hey, she's my girlfriend, ya hear? And I'll be worried about her if I wanna be, alright? And there ain't no way in hell she got on that list on her own. Nuh- _uh._ Vickie Harper put her on that list, and since Two-Bit and Dally have access to all that shit, they're the ones gonna fix this situation."

Two-Bit narrowed his eyes at his buddy. This whole goddamn situation was starting to really piss him off, and he was really regretting tagging along with Dallas on this one. Sure, it sounded like a great way to annoy Dally at first, but it was all turning out to be way more complicated than that. "So what the hell do ya want to happen, exactly?" Two-Bit asked, directing his gaze at Steve. "Seriously, what the fuck do you want us to do? We can't take her off now – the whole damn school knows she was nominated! They're sure as hell gonna notice if she ain't ridin' around in one'a those goddamned convertibles Friday night. So even if Dally and I make sure Harper don't win, whatta we do then? Huh? It's a fuckin' popularity contest, Stevie, so you can bet your ass that even if Harper don't get it, Evie sure won't either."

"I don't want her to!"

"It's prolly gonna be Cherry Valance or Bridget Stevens, then," Pony added, trying to be helpful, even though he really had no idea what was going on. Steve and Two-Bit's expressions darkened, and they both rolled their eyes.

"It's gonna be Cherry, then," Two-Bit mumbled around his cigarette, shuffling his cards. "Dal and I ain't fixin' it any further then what we're already doin'." Which was true – if Vickie didn't win, and Evie didn't win, then it would probably be Cherry. She was pretty popular on her own, but it would probably be a pity vote more than anything, what with her beau being dead and all.

The entire conversation, Darry and Sodapop had been ping-ponging back and forth, sitting back and listening as the game and the conversation went on. And hell, the table talk was more interesting than the game was, anyways. The brother had exchanged several looks; stuff like this almost made Sodapop sorry he left school. This was some good shit!

"Since when are y'all so concerned with homecoming?" Darry asked. "I mean, of all things. I know Two-Bit and Dallas are dumbasses and got themselves into this situation, but why the hell are the two of you so caught up in who wins what and who does whose hair and where they do it at?"

"Since _now!_ " Steve snapped.

What Steve didn't know was that he wasn't the only one who cared. Because Two-Bit cared – he cared a lot. He cared enough about Bridget Stevens (and yes, even grumpy ol' Steve Randle) to fuck with something he couldn't care less enough, and for what – to have Vickie Harper and George Clayton and the rest of the jet set on his ass for all eternity? Sounded about right. And Dallas, too, cared in his own fucked up way. Because of course, George Clayton not winning homecoming king would certainly atone for everything that happened to not only Dallas, but to Johnny, too, and maybe even a little bit for what happened to the Curtises. And Ella Mitchell cared, and Cathy Carlson cared, and Bridget Stevens cared, because of _course_ they cared. Hell, Cherry Valance had probably put two-and-two together by this point, and she probably cared.

And no matter whose plan this all went according to, by Saturday night, all of Tulsa would probably find a way to care about the 1965 Will Rogers High School homecoming.

That _fucking_ football team. Two-Bit glared at Darry, who just raised confused eyebrows. "What'd I do?"

"Nothin' _yet_ ," Two-Bit hissed. "But you best watch yer ass."

Darry sighed and shook his head. "Whatever you say, Two-Bitch."

"Man, I thought y'all we're s'posed to be learning at school, not tampering with homecoming."

"Aw, shuddup, Sodapop. You ain't even been outta there a full year, don't go talkin' like you're some eighty-year-old man who _had to walk five miles to get to school_ and _went to school in a one-room schoolhouse_ and _had to stand up in front of the entire class and recite Bible verses_."

"Jesus H., Steve, just cuz your gramps only has one story don't mean you gotta rip 'im for it."

Steve glared at Two-Bit while the rest of them laughed, and that seemed to momentarily lift the tension. Then Steve sighed and sat back, throwing his cards on the table. "Two-Bit?"

"Yeah."

"You and Dally better take care of this, okay? Because I'm sick and tired of seein' how these clowns treat my girl."

Quiet again. Even Ponyboy, who usually couldn't stand Steve, felt sorry for him. Two-Bit could only nod. "Yeah, man. We're on it."

That is, as long as Vickie didn't have a contingency plan.

XXXXX

 **AN: "Stranger is Paradise" is from the 1954 Broadway play** ** _Kismet_** **. Bee is listening to the song "Breakaway" by Irma Thomas. Sadie is Two-Bit's little sister from the** ** _Don't Think Twice_** **series, and the song Soda sings is "Happiness" from** ** _You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown_** **, which was still just a concept album in 1965. Of course, we own none of these!**

 **Thank you all for sticking with us!**


	17. The Testing Point

" **Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point." —C.S. Lewis**

* * *

Ella's heart was thumping away in her chest. Her focus was fixated on Craig's caramel colored eyes, the slight curve of his lips, and the way his perfect fluffy hair fell across his forehead. Gosh, she thought, subconsciously biting her lower lip, he sure was dreamy. Is this what it felt like to be head-over-heels for someone? Ella wasn't exactly sure, but looking at Craig Bryant right then, her own eyes bright and glassy, a smile adorning her lips, Ella thought that it was pretty close to that feeling.

". . . and I'll pick you up then?"

She snapped back into reality. "Yeah, that— that's fine, Craig." A blush coated her cheeks as she looked back at her crush of two years. "I'm just really excited for everything."

Craig grinned. "Me, too."

Ella nodded, still slightly lost in her own daze of wondrous puppy-love. The way Craig looked at her, _really_ looked at her, made her stomach twist and flip, and golly, but she felt like she was on top of the world. A boy, _a boy_ , was noticing _her_ , her of all people—the invisible girl at school, the one who barely socialized with anyone at all, was being noticed by one of the most popular boys in the school. Ella wondered briefly if Bridget felt this way about Jerry Thompson, or Cathy about Ponyboy Curtis, but then her thoughts flickered to Evie and Steve, and she felt her heart plummet a little as she considered herself ever being in a relationship like that.

Craig took her hand, and Ella's chest tightened. "Let me walk you to your next class."

She nodded. "Okay."

The two fell in step, and as Craig nodded to a few of his friends along the way, Ella's chin lowered a bit, a sinking feeling in her gut. For some unfathomable reason, her thoughts shifted to Vickie Harper, the blond girl's underlying warning echoing in her mind like a broken record with a disturbing melody. The girl wasn't sure why, but the closer they moved to the homecoming dance, the more uncomfortable she began to feel. Oh, blast it, she thought to herself, wishing she could just simply distinguish these emotions of hers, there was nothing to get frazzled over—Vickie wasn't really doing anything, or was she?

What were these feelings that were nagging at her so suddenly?

Ella glanced up at Craig, brows pressing together. "Are you excited for the game tonight?" She could have kicked herself—of course Craig was stoked for the game that night. How could he not be? "I mean with being a nominee and all?"

Craig seemed oblivious to her discomfort. "I'm always pepped for a game." He winked at her. "I don't really care too much for being a nominee, though. I know George Clayton and Vickie Harper are . . . well, they're really looking forward to it all."

"Are they?"

Ella knew that Vickie was ecstatic and rather eager for the entire night of the homecoming dance, even suspiciously anxious, but George? Now that was definitely shocking to hear. George Clayton didn't seem to give a hoot about any dance or school function unless it directly involved sports. She had seen him and Vickie working together, though, and George always looked annoyed and put-off, like being around Vickie Harper was a nuisance in itself, not that Ella could fault him for that thought.

"Well, they're both determined to win with their entire campaign, you know?" Craig answered, running his free hand through his hair. "I don't know, but Vickie was . . . pretty anxious about everything."

Ella nodded, lips pursing, a cool sensation creeping up her spine.

XXXXX

Angela's teeth were grinding together very hardly. Her tiger-like eyes were narrowed, and her full and plump lips were set into such a thin line, she could have resembled a cartoon character. Beside her, Jenny Arsele kept her hands crossed over her chest, a firm expression blanketing her features. Sylvia looked no better, although her countenance reflected more shock than anything. She had heard the news, though, before anyone else, but actually hearing the _official_ confirmation made her feel quite nervous for Evie.

On the other hand, Evie herself, though internally pivoting downward into her own fiery oasis, kept her face neutral, and Sylvia knew her well enough to know that she was doing her best to hold her ground, not that Angela Shepard or Jenny Arsele would ever think twice about jumping her. Then again, neither of them had received the news of making a trip to the West side of town that evening, as well as the following evening for Angela, that well. Sylvia had seen this coming, she had, and she had warned Evie several times in the past week that using Bridget Stevens's house for her salon services wasn't exactly a splendid idea.

"She's a fucking _Soc_ ," Jenny bit out, nostrils flaring. "How come we gotta go to _her_ side of town, huh? What's she gotta do with this business of yours?"

Evie was getting frustrated. "Listen here: Bridget Stevens"—Glory, her name didn't taste like vinegar in her mouth anymore, but it was still bitter—"offered me to use her own house for _this business_ of mine, so that's what we're doin'. If y'all don't like it, you can get your hair and nails done elsewhere."

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Evie's blood was boiling hot beneath the surface, and her own expression of pure anger was enough to challenge Angela's. Of course, she wasn't exactly thrilled about using Stevens's house for this entire ordeal, but it was large and suited their needs just fine, and if Angela and her friends couldn't accept that, then they didn't need their hair and nails done by her, did they? Nope, they didn't. Lord, it wasn't like Evie was depending on any of them to begin with; it was only supposed to be Ella Mitchell and Cathy Carlson in the beginning.

"You ever been to her house?" Sylvia asked, cocking a perfectly arched eyebrow.

Evie, caught off guard, felt her cheeks heat up a little. "Once."

Sylvia looked a mix between confused, shocked, and worried. "This ain't no kinda setup, is it, Evie? I mean, you hated Bridget Stevens just two weeks ago, and now you're defending her and galloping around like you and her are friends or somethin'. What's the deal?"

The brunette rolled her eyes, foot tapping impatiently. "There ain't no deal here. Look, she offered her house up for us to use, and that's all there is to it, savvy?" Her own eyes became slits. "Now, do y'all want your nails and shit done tonight or what? I can always make slots for other girls if none of you want to show up." And then very quietly, under her breath, did she add, "Chicken shits."

And that did it for Angela Shepard, who hadn't exactly opened her mouth since questioning Evie where they would be showing up that afternoon, which was a surprise in itself. Usually, Angela was the bitch who was always getting her two cents in whenever it counted, so Evie was mildly shocked that the black-haired girl had yet to say anything, until then.

"Oh, sure, we'll be there, Martin," she said, the side of her lips quirking up. "You can count on that."

Next to her, Jenny looked appalled, but Evie grinned. "Looking forward to it, Shepard." And she was just pissed enough to offer up a bitchy grin of her own. "See you there at three."

As she turned on her heel, leaving the three girls behind, Evie glowered, hoping to God that whatever happened later that afternoon and evening, Bridget Stevens's house would still be intact by the time everybody left. While she continued walking, though, she couldn't help but hear Beth's voice in her head asking her if she was still friends with Sylvia and Kathy . . . and thinking about it then, Evie's heart seemed to sink a little lower as she wondered if she really was.

Or were they her friends anymore?

XXXXX

Cathy had been looking a lot brighter the past few days, and Ella could only assume that she was very much looking forward to her "second date" with Ponyboy Curtis. She was happy for her friend, really she was, but she couldn't diminish that awful feeling that had been clouding her thoughts ever since she was with Craig earlier that morning. She was doing her best to put on a happy face, but with Cathy's constant looks of concern, Ella figured that she was doing a poor job at conveying her facade of happiness.

"Are you feeling okay, Ella?"

The brown-haired girl nodded. "I'm just worried."

Cathy, always the analytical one, guessed her problem immediately. "About Vickie?"

"Sorta," came the hesitant answer. "I just— Well, I have a bad feeling, and I don't know why. With the rumors about Evie and all, and then the sneaking around just to talk about it, I feel terrible." Her face contorted to sheer agony. "I don't want to see Evie get hurt or anything, and I have a bad feeling about this dance tomorrow night."

Cathy hadn't quite admitted it out loud, but there was something bothering her, too. She was better at concealing her emotions, though, better at putting on a brave face, unlike Ella, or even Bridget, who were both more emotional and sensitive. Evie was tough, Cathy was practical, having spent a lot of her youth babysitting her younger siblings. Bridget and Ella, though, were cool and collected in their own ways, but their sensitivity came from being alone and isolated a lot more than both Evie and Cathy.

But Cathy sympathized, worried about their friend as well. "Don't stress yourself, Ella." She licked her lips. "Nothing is going to happen to Evie, alright?" She hoped that her words were true. "Evie can handle herself, and well, we'll all be looking out for her."

Ella nodded, using the back of her sleeve to wipe away a few stray tears that had fallen. "I hope so." And then she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to . . . get like this on you."

Cathy smiled. "Oh, don't worry yourself." Her face turned serious for a second. "Are _you_ okay?"

And Ella shook her head in affirmation. "I think so, or at least, I will be." A smile. "Thanks, Cathy."

The younger girl smiled, but there was still a sinking feeling in the very pit of her stomach. Her eyes were suddenly downcast, and she found herself studying her thighs, Vickie's hurtful comment numbing her other thoughts and her current consolation of Ella. Good Lord, but Vickie Harper was terrible, and Cathy found herself suddenly in Ella's position.

"No problem," she muttered out, rubbing her hands together. And then she glanced back across the table at her friend. "Ella, can I ask you something? It might sound . . . strange, but—"

Ella shook her head. "Of course, Cathy."

She looked nervous, and her bottom lip curled back under her top lip, a look of anguish in her gray orbs. "Do you . . . think I'm . . . I'm fat?"

The words seemed to tumble out of her mouth, and suddenly, Cathy's eyes were becoming a little glassy as tears formed in them. She was not going to cry over Vickie Harper—she wasn't. Oh, but there were already tears spilling down her face, and the more she mentally scolded herself, the worse she began to feel about it, and everything else.

Ella look alarmed. "Of course not, Cathy!" she blurted out. "I don't think there's anything wrong with you at all." Her expression was firm and serious. "What's wrong?"

And before either girl knew it, Cathy was telling Ella how Vickie Harper had briefly sabotaged her date with Ponyboy Curtis the other night, and even though it hadn't completely destroyed everything, she was still incredibly hurt over the other girl's words judging her physique.

Ella looked appalled, struck, and she hurt for the younger girl. "Well, she's _wrong_ , Cathy. There's nothing wrong with you or your figure." Her voice sounded earnest, desperate for Cathy to hear the truth in her words. "We can't let her do this, keep bringing everyone down."

Cathy nodded, wiping at her eyes. Now she felt silly. "I know, I just . . . Gosh, I'm sorry, Ella."

The older teen smiled a little to try and reassure the girl that she had done nothing wrong. "It's fine, really," she replied, still wiping away the wetness beneath her own eyes.

Before Cathy could respond, though, she noticed a silhouette approaching their table. As her eyes raised to see who was headed toward them, Cathy couldn't contain the grimace that shuddered through her body at the sight of Dallas Winston. She wondered what he could possibly want with them, but then reminded herself that Ella was still his tutor—God, she couldn't feel more horrible for the girl as she did then. Dealing with the blond-haired devil himself in art class was enough to kill a person, and Cathy had been doing her best to ignore the hood's presence since she arrived at Will Rogers High School two weeks ago.

Ella was still wiping away at her eyes, but when she finally noticed Cathy's look, she followed her gaze, a stunned expression stretching across her face.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Dallas asked, wrinkling his nose down at Ella, and then at Cathy.

"Nothing is wrong," Cathy answered, hoping that Winston wouldn't try interrogating them "Did you need something?" Despite the bluntness of her question, she kept her voice level, not concealing her dislike of the hood, but not starting trouble with him, either.

Dallas eyed her coolly, making a face at her floral skirt and matching sweater. "Matter of fact, I did, but it don't involve you, Flower Power."

Ella cringed, considering her own dark magenta skirt and plain black blouse, the sides of her old saddle shoes peeping out from under the table. She glanced at Cathy's face, her expression darkening a little, and before the dark-haired girl could snap back, she intervened, sliding out of her chair and facing the blond delinquent with a stern look.

"Cathy can stay," she stated, folding her hands in front of herself. Her eyes met Dallas's. "If it's about Vickie, it's fine."

Dallas sneered, clearly unhappy. He'd had enough people telling him what the fuck to do, and he didn't need to hear it from Dopey, too. Good Lord, but with Steve getting all over his and Two-Bit's case, the ongoing issue with Ponyboy that nobody seemed to know about, the fucking tutoring, and this entire homecoming bullshit, he was about to blow a fuse.

His jaw clenched as he glared once more at Cathy before looking back at Ella. Jesus Christ, the little broads had been crying; he wondered who the hell had crapped in their sheets, having never seen them get _that_ upset before. He didn't have time for this shit, though. It was their lunch period, and he had things to take care of, and spending time with Dopey and . . . Flower Power wasn't one of them.

He rolled his eyes. "You hear anything yet?"

A sigh fell from Ella's lips, a hand reaching up to rub her forehead. "Not exactly, but there's, well—" She paused, unsure of how to explain the issue to him. One look at Dallas's face told Ella that he was becoming incredibly irritated, and quickly. She decided, with good conscious, to speed things along as to not get him more irked than what he already was. "It's just that Vickie is saying that Evie cheated to get her votes in order to become a nominee."

The blond's brows pulled together, a skeptical expression on his face. Well, he thought, Two-Bit had been on to something after all. Dallas knew that the only reason Two-Bit was involving himself so deeply in this shit was because of Bridget—Buzzing Bee—Stevens, and he didn't trust her. He wasn't all that sure that he trusted Ella, either, but he had nothing else to go on. At Ella's nervous look, though, he figured she wasn't the type to go along with the likes of Vickie Harper, but Bridget . . . different story there.

"Where'd you hear this?"

Cathy was watching the exchange, remembering when Ella had told her and Bridget about Vickie Harper seeking her out just to try and pry information from her. It surprised her, though, that Dallas Winston was involving himself in any of this, but what was more stunning to her—and she wondered if Ella was even aware of it—was how Dallas seemed to actually _talk_ to her. It was odd, considering the fact that he usually snapped at everyone, except his friends, but he was . . . strangely decent to Ella, who was practically cowering back every time he spoke.

"Vickie."

Dallas's lips curled. "Vickie?" he repeated, eyes hardening. "When in the fuck did you talk to Vickie Harper? What the fuck else ain't you tellin' me, girl?"

Now Cathy stepped in, and even though Winston's brewing gaze was enough to unnerve her, she didn't back down, just like she wouldn't from Vickie. She stood up in one fluid motion, arms crossing over her chest as she gave the blond the coolest look that she could.

"Vickie approached Ella, not the other way around," she clarified, raising her chin. "She's been trying to find out information about Evie Martin's salon business . . ." She trailed on, leaving Ella to nod along with what she was relaying, wishing more than anything that none of them were mixed up in this godawful catastrophe.

Dallas was listening, his teeth pressing together harder and harder with each passing second. Jesus Christ almighty, but all of this was fucking girl drama, and he couldn't believe that he had gotten his ass roped into it all because Two-Bit fucking Mathews cared about some Soc chick, and because Steve fucking Randle's girlfriend had become a puppet of sorts for some stupid-ass dance. Good fucking Lord, but this entire thing was nothing less of pathetic. He wanted out.

After Flower Power stopped yapping away, his attention flickered to Dopey. "That's what the fucking water works were about?" He shook his head, mumbling under his breath, "Jesus Christ."

Ella scowled. "I've been worried about Evie . . . and Bridget." Before Dallas could make another hideous remark about Bridget Stevens, Ella continued on. "She's not planning anything with Vickie Harper, either, Dallas." A sigh. "She's not against Evie. In fact, she's been trying to help her out."

A flashback of her and Cathy talking with Bridget a few nights ago entered her mind, and just remembering Bridget sobbing herself senseless over her remark to Evie a few weeks ago, along with the fact that she was guilty—blaming herself for this mess—Ella felt her stomach twisting up in knots, making her feel sick all over again. Bridget _did_ want to help Evie, she did, and Ella was certain that it wasn't just out of guilt, but because she was desperate—desperate for the same thing they all were.

The blond shoved his hands in his pockets, looking away for a second before turning back toward the two girls. He really didn't want to be there, didn't want to be in that fucking library or that fucking school, didn't want to be involving himself in some petty high school drama that suited the likes of Sylvia and Angela just fine; he was getting soft—this shit had to stop.

"Sure," he said after a moment. "You two just keep an eye out for Evie, ya hear?"

And with that, he turned on his heel and headed out, a bitter look plastering his face as he conjured up the rest of what he and Two-Bit would be taking care of. He hoped that the red-headed wise-cracker didn't have any plans set for the following night, because he was going to be helping him with something, something that could potentially sabotage anything that Vickie Harper and George Clayton were up to.

They were going to the homecoming dance.

XXXXX

Evie was glowering—this just wasn't her day, far from it. Dealing with the disaster of telling Angela Shepard, Jenny Arsele, and even Sylvia was enough to drive her up a damn wall, and now she was listening to Steve's words of caution about going to Bridget's house that night. More than once, he had suggested driving her over there, but she had told him that she would be going with Ella and Cathy after school, and they would be following behind Bridget, who was getting a ride from Cherry Valance.

Steve was tense, terribly so, and his brooding attitude was making Evie even more upset. Glory, but why did everyone have to be breathing down her neck that day? Why couldn't they all just leave her alone instead of making mountains out of molehills, and leave the drama elsewhere? Christ almighty, but even Beth—her kid sister—wasn't _this_ dramatic. Her boyfriend continued on, though, oblivious to the fact that she had already tuned him out, not in the mood to deal with him. Instead, her eyes were focused on the other students assembling around the gymnasium for the pep rally, the football players lined up on the sides, ready to take forefront of the entire show, like always.

Evie groaned lightly as her eyes fell on Jerry Thompson, George Clayton, and Craig Bryant—they were the male nominees for homecoming, and she ground her teeth while she wondered who she would be made to ride with that night. Surely, Vickie and George would be together—that was a give me—and probably Cherry and Randy, so that left Bridget, Lucy, and her, and Craig, Kevin, and Jerry. Oh, God help her, but she would die if she was paired up with either Craig or Jerry—Ella's and Bridget's dates!

"Evie, are you listenin' to me?" Steve asked, stepping in front of her and blocking her view.

Her eyes narrowed thinly. "I was, Steve, but you've been repeating yourself for the last several minutes, so I ain't." Her chin raised ever so slightly. "And I told you, I ain't changing my mind about this, so just quit it already."

Lord, she hated arguing with Steve, and she knew he hated arguing with her, too. Usually, they never fought with each other; oh, they had their disputes, minor as they were, but they never got out of control, and they were always quick to forgive one another. But _this?_ This was getting annoying, and it was making Evie quite aggravated. Steve was antsy, though, and Evie thought that he might just blow up from all of the irritation that had been building up inside of him for the past two weeks.

"Fine," he eventually snapped, face hard. "Do what the fuck you want, Evie. Just don't say I didn't warn ya." And then, without really thinking, he spit out a terribly hurtful remark to her, wishing that he could take it all back the second it was out of his mouth. "I just thought you were smart, that you had some workin' brains up there, but I guess I was wrong. Yer just like the rest of them."

The brunette girl's eyes broadened, but Steve hadn't quite noticed because he was already recoiling a bit, his own face twisted in shock at his own words. Evie hadn't cared, though, and with an expression of sheer contempt, she turned on her heel and headed to the bathroom. She sat in a vacant stall, hands covering her face as her elbows pressed into her knees, her back bent forward as one lone tear streaked her right cheek.

XXXXX

"You look absolutely . . . terrible."

Bridget felt terrible, too, but Vickie's words stung, and she didn't really appreciate being told that she looked downright horrible just before the pep rally. She gave the blond a glare, but to Vickie, it looked more like a child about to throw a tantrum. Bridget had been off all week, and just looking at Vickie right then only made her feel worse; she couldn't get the thought of her scheming behind everybody's backs out of her mind. And to make things worse, she kept telling herself that it was all her fault, that because she was so desperate to fit in with her "social crowd" a few weeks ago, her comment had led to all of this.

"So, all of those girls will be at your house tonight," Vickie continued, sounding like a detective on a mission, only her voice was light and thin. "I really hope that you'll be careful, and really, you should look out for yourself. Your father will be there, right?" At Bridget's silence, she merely carried on, as if what she was saying wasn't hurting the black-haired girl beside her. "Goodness, Bridget, but have you even _told_ your father what was going on? Did you bother to tell him that—" She froze, jerking around to fully face her. "You didn't, did you?"

Bridget's face tightened as she attempted to control herself. "Vickie—"

The taller girl scoffed. "Whatever, Bridget. Like I said, I would just watch my back. Evie might just be taking advantage of you because . . . well, look at her and look at you." She shook her head, brushing over her uniform. "And those other girls . . . what were their names? Catherine and Ella, right?" A sigh. "Who knows what girls like that would do? And to think that . . . good gracious, Bridget! How many of those . . . _pigs_ are coming to your house?"

And those last words were all Bridget Stevens could take. Without another word, stare, or expression at Vickie Harper, she walked away and headed to the bathrooms by the gymnasium. Taking the farthest stall from the door, Bridget walked in and allowed the tears that had been previously blurring her vision to fall, the tiny droplets plopping onto her hand and running down her fingers.

Unbeknownst to her, the girl in the stall beside her was a perfect reflection of her.

XXXXX

Mrs. Mitchell's car was filled with bags of items that Evie would be needing that evening, as well as the next. Bridget had agreed to let her keep the stuff at her house to make things easier—that way she didn't have to keep lugging everything around with her. Evie sat up front that time while Ella drove, Cathy silent in the backseat behind Ella. There was some sort of tension emitting around them, although it wasn't directed at each other, but rather, the upcoming events that they would all be involved in for the next thirty something hours.

In front of them, Evie could see the back of Bridget's head in Cherry's Stingray, and she felt her chest tighten as she considered Sylvia's words, accompanied by Beth's. Sure, she had been hanging around her, as well as Cathy and Ella, and sure, Evie had defended Bridget on multiple occasions the past few days, but they were all involved in this now, despite having their separate reasons, and Evie couldn't help but to not exactly dislike Bridget anymore. In fact, the girl was coming to realize that she had gained a certain respect for her, not that she would ever—in a million years—admit that to anyone.

A few minutes later, Bridget climbed out of Cherry's car, the red-head waving as she sped away, and Ella parked the Impala where the Stingray had previously pulled up. Nothing was said as the three girls followed Bridget inside of her house, bags in hand, and both Ella and Cathy felt almost awkward for once as they recalled the last time they had been there without Evie.

Bridget's expression was solemn as she turned around to face them once they were in her massive kitchen. "I was thinking that we could use the porch to do nails . . ."

Evie nodded. "That's fine, Stevens. It's nice out today." She turned her attention to Ella. "I'll do yours last, savvy? I know Stevens here is probably anxious to get this over with anyway." At the shorter girl's look of protest, Evie merely continued on. "Look, I'd be anxious to get the likes of Angela Shepard and Jenny Arsele outta my house, too. Relax."

And Bridget did, almost. "So, nails and—"

"Brows," Evie finished. "Tomorrow is hair and makeup, which is gonna take a lot longer than nails. At least the majority will be us, so don't get all uptight." Despite her words, her tone was actually not condescending, but more playful, and Bridget gave her a small smile.

Cathy licked her lips. "Who's coming tonight again?"

"Oh," Ella said, fishing around her bag for her notes. "Other than us four, there will only be five other girls here."

Bridget's eyes widened. "I thought you said seven in total last week."

The brown-haired girl's face flushed. "I miscounted." There was a nervous sound in her voice. "I forgot about Sylvia's friends, Sheila Winters, and—"

"Her volunteer," Evie cut, rolling her eyes. "She decided to tell Rebecca Hudgeons to join the crowd without asking me first, so that's that."

Bridget looked like she might faint, but she maintained a collected exterior, for the most part. "Okay, so nine. And tomorrow?" At that, she looked back at Ella again.

"Six," she confirmed. "Us four, Angela Shepard, and Joan Platten."

Bridget nodded. "Okay."

Cathy grimaced at the thought of washing Angela's hair. _Ugh_ , she couldn't wait until all of this was over with—she just wanted to be at the homecoming dance with Ponyboy Curtis; that was really only the major thing she was looking forward to. She was excited to be going, to be seeing her friends, but the looming threat of Vickie Harper hanging over her head was nagging at her, too.

"So," Evie said casually, cocking an eyebrow as she placed a bag of nail polish on the kitchen floor with ease, "you mind if I smoke on the porch?"

XXXXX

Two-Bit was considering Dallas's plan.

He liked it a lot. If they succeeded in fulfilling it, then Vickie Harper and George Clayton would be made fools of, and that was something that he could take immense pleasure in. The thought alone was quite enjoyable, and he had to admit, he had missed this side of Dallas—wild, cunning Dally. While he went over the plans in his mind, he gaze shifted toward Steve, who looked downright miserable. He knew that the dark-haired boy had gotten into an argument with Evie, and he couldn't help but feel some form of sympathy for his buddy.

Still, he and Dallas had work to do.

He had agreed to attend homecoming, though the thought of seeing Bee Stevens there on the arm of Jerry Thompson wasn't exactly . . . enthralling.

XXXXX

Peggy Nichols arrived at Bridget's house with Jenny Arsele and Angela Shepard. Bridget's heart was busy thundering away in her chest as she looked the girls over, trying to understand why everyone was so intimidated around this girl—Angela. As far as she could tell, Angela looked like any other girl, except that she was stunning in appearance. Bridget subconsciously ran her fingers through her hair as she stared in awe at Angela's naturally blue-black ringlets that fell down her back, and her large blue eyes that stood out on her dark face.

Jenny stood next to her, eyeing the house with a hungry look in her brown eyes, her thin face giving nothing away. Peggy looked awkward, but tough, kind of like Evie, and Vickie's voice entered her mind at that precise minute, warning her to be careful.

While Evie told the three where everything would be taking place, Sheila Winters and Rebecca Hudgeons pulled up, and Ella walked with Bridget to answer the door. Cathy followed suit, but stayed behind a few paces, not wanting to crowd everyone, but not wanting to be anywhere near Angela, either—she just prayed that this could go as smoothly and as quickly as reasonably possible.

She didn't want any trouble on top of everything else going on.

Angela was staring at Bridget. "So you're Bridget Stevens, huh?" She was chewing a piece of gum, a blank look in her eyes. "I've heard about you, ya know."

Bridget looked a little pale, a flash of concern etching across her face. "Have you?"

Angela nodded. "You hang around with Vickie Harper." And before Bridget could answer, little Angela was already onto another topic. "You gotta nice house here." Her eyes held a glint in them, and Bridget wasn't quite sure how to take it. "I ain't ever been on this side of town before."

Evie waltzed on in just then, a forced smile on her face. "So you made it, Shepard."

"Told you I'd be here, Martin."

Ella shrunk back next to Bridget, and both girls seemed to disappear behind the others. Cathy stayed put, not one to back down, although there was a sour expression on her otherwise cool face. Ella knew that Cathy was annoyed with Angela's presence, and she felt bad. She had a feeling that Bridget wasn't quite familiar with the youngest Shepard sibling, judging from her countenance, but Ella didn't really have a problem with the girl directly, having never actually spoken to her before. She glanced around at each girl standing in Bridget Stevens's house, looking at how different they seemed from one another, but were they really?

To anyone else—anyone else meaning Vickie Harper—these girls didn't fit together, didn't belong standing around and socializing like this, but here they were, and it was casual, very much so, even if there was a form of awkwardness radiating from everyone.

This was the testing point, though—this took courage—to stand together like this, even if was only to get themselves beautified in one way or the other for a school dance.

Evie nodded to Sheila and Rebecca, before going over what she had with Peggy, Jenny, and Angela, and the two girls merely nodded along, looking rather bored. While she spoke, Bridget rubbed her clammy hands against her skirt, noticing that Ella also looked out of place.

It wasn't long before Evie set to work, starting with Jenny. The girls stayed out on the porch while Evie began tweezing away at Jenny's brows, before moving along to Peggy, Rebecca, and then Sheila. Ella, Cathy, and Bridget stood in there own corner, Cathy's dislike of Angela not going unnoticed by any of them. In fact, Angela seemed to return the feeling, but she made no move to say anything, didn't even bat an eye in Cathy's direction.

"Evie sure knows what she's doing," Ella stated, her focus on said girl.

Cathy replied while Bridget nodded earnestly. "Yeah, I could actually see her having her own business one day doing this, can't you?"

"Hey, El, you're up!" Evie called out, and Ella's chest tightened.

She could feel everyone's eyes on her as she made her way over to where Evie stood. She sat down on the chair Bridget had let them use for brows and nails, heart hammering away.

"Not too thin," she practically squeaked, staring up at Evie.

The brunette began combing away at her brows. "Don't worry. I ain't gonna shred your brows off," she teased, and then her face turned serious. "At least close your eyes or somethin', though. You starin' away like that is creepy!"

The process had proved to be less painful than what Ella was expecting, and when Evie let her look at herself in the mirror, she was actually stunned that she didn't look bad—not bad at all. In fact, with the way Evie had plucked the few stray hairs and had trimmed them across nicely, Ella's eyes seemed to stand out just a little more.

Ella was very pleased, and a grin adorned her lips as she thanked her friend.

After paying Evie, Sheila and Rebecca took their leave, and Evie had gotten to work on painting nails, once again leaving the other girls to themselves. Not much was said, but at one point, Bridget had offered out drinks and snacks to be polite. Evie had finished up with Peggy quickly, since the girl only wanted a manicure. Jenny was next, and then Angela, and while Evie worked on her, the other two girls sat across from Bridget, Cathy, and Ella on the porch, immersed in their own conversation while their nails dried.

Evie was busy painting Angela's fingernails a dark purple. "I'm surprised you didn't ask me to paint them red or somethin'."

Angela only smiled. "My dress is lavender."

Surprise, surprise, Evie thought to herself, brushing one more coat over the younger girl's pinky. "That should do it," she said, pleased with her handiwork.

Angela inspected her nails for a second, one brow raising. "Ya know, Martin, you do one helluva job with this stuff. You really gonna be a beautician?"

"That's the plan."

She looked thoughtful. "Well, if you are one day, you'll have to let me know." And with that, she winked, standing up and making her way over to where her friends were still sitting, taking a seat beside them.

Evie looked almost shocked, but called Ella over. She painted her toenails dark and contrasted them with her fingernails, painting them a lighter color. By the time she finished up with her, Angela and her friends were ready to head out. They paid her for her services and thanked her, and Bridget led them through the house and back to the front. Before they were completely out, though, Angela turned to face Bridget, a small curve of her lips being the only indent of barely noticeable smile.

"Thanks, Stevens."

Bridget looked surprised. "For what?"

"Heard you volunteered your house for this or somethin'," she replied, brows raising. "That's tuff."

"Oh," Bridget said, pursing her lips. "It was no problem . . . Angela." When she turned back around after closing the door, Evie was standing there, arms crossed over her chest.

"Word of advice, Stevens," she began, voice firm. "Don't trust Angela Shepard . . . ever. She can play nice, but she really ain't, and trust me, she ain't the kinda person you wanna get yourself mixed up with, savvy?"

The shorter girl nodded, not bothering to question Evie's warning.

XXXXX

Vickie Harper's grin was almost diabolical—almost.

She stared at George across the field that night, a calculating look in her blue eyes. There were only twenty-four hours until the King and Queen would be announced, and Vickie's excitement and eagerness to see her plans play out was causing her veins to pump hot with adrenaline. She had been waiting for these two nights for the past few weeks, and now that they were finally there, she just couldn't wait to see Evelyn Martin made out to be a complete fool. So many people already believed that she had cheated to get the votes, so when tomorrow night's events occurred, the entire student body, or those that would be attending the dance, would really get a treat when . . . all was revealed.

Vickie's eyes shifted toward Bridget, who hadn't said one word to her since that morning, and it irked her that she had been getting awfully close to Evelyn, and those other two mediocre brats. This was all unacceptable, and Vickie was going to make sure that it was stopped—for good. Oh, why couldn't it just be the night of homecoming already? The blond had to remind herself to remain patient—all good things took time, and this was no different.

Her lips curled as she gazed around the bleachers, her eyes landing on Miss Sunshine, Miss Ditz, and—her eyes focused a little more—Ponyboy Curtis, the good-looking brother, Two-Bit Mathews, Dallas Winston, Steve Randle, and Evelyn! Perfect!

Oh, this was just . . . _perfect_.

XXXXX

Halftime came quicker than what Evie was hoping for, but soon enough, it crept up on her. She stood behind Cherry Valance, Lucy Drysdale, Bridget Stevens, and Vickie Harper, knowing that she stuck out like a sore thumb. The girl had to keep telling herself that she didn't care, that no matter what happened, none of this mattered, because it _didn't_.

The order of the nominees was announced, and Evie's chest tightened at the pairings.

 _George Clayton and Vickie Harper; Jerry Thompson and Bridget Stevens; Craig Bryant and Evelyn Martin; Randy Adderson and Sherri Valance; Kevin Rogers and Lucille Drysdale._

Up in the stands, Ella's face expressed shock, and Evie felt her jaw drop to the ground at the thought of being paired up with Craig Bryant! _Craig Bryant,_ who was Ella Mitchell's date. Oh, good Lord, this had to be some sort of trick, only it wasn't, and Evie's teeth clenched together at the thought of riding around the field with her friend's love interest. Oh, but she could just die! And now she would be forced to stand with him tomorrow night at the dance itself, and to make things absolutely worse, she had to fucking _dance with him!_

Vickie Harper looked smug, incredibly so, and Evie considered on slugging the girl. Something wasn't right with this, and Ella's, Cathy's, Bridget's, and even her other friends' warnings of something being wrong was beginning to eat away at her. Evie was on guard, her gaze not once removing itself from Vickie—that _bitch!_

Craig stood beside her, a sickened expression clouding his face, and he didn't even bother to utter one word to her. Vickie was still smiling, and behind her and George, Bridget turned to give her a sympathetic look, obviously picking up on her discomfort. Cherry Valance even looked off with this, but there was something else lurking beneath her otherwise collected exterior, something that Evie couldn't put her finger on.

And then it hit her.

Half of these people thought that she had cheated to get there, and now she understood why Ella and Cathy were so concerned. Hell, even Stevens had seemed worried about it, and now the realization of what could potentially happen only just began settling in the very pit of her stomach. But Evie reminded herself that she wasn't going to let any of this get to her, she wouldn't, because she was tough.

Dammit.

Steve's worried face was etched into her mind. She caught his eye up in the bleachers, that same look in his orbs as he stared at her from his spot next to Dallas Winston and Two-Bit Mathews. She kept her own expression neutral—the last thing she needed was to look like a coward.

The nominees rode around the field, and to Evie, everyone merely played their parts, even her. Craig didn't so much as spare her a glance, and Evie's chin raised as she forced a smile onto her face—one which resembled more of a curved line—and waved. Golly, but internally she was feeling nauseous, worried, and overall sick.

She would suck it up, though.

She had to.

This was her testing point.

It was at this moment that Evie Martin could imagine a scarlet letter sewn onto herself, because now she was officially the outcast, the one who was being scrutinized and silently judged. But like Hester Prynne, she was strong, and brave, and _Able_.

" _ **The letter was the symbol of her calling. Such helpfulness was found in her,—so much power to sympathize,—that many people refused to interpret the scarlet A by its original significance. They said that it meant Able; so strong was Hester Prynne, with a woman's strength." —**_ **Nathaniel Hawthorne,** _**The Scarlet Letter**_

* * *

 **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. **

**Thank you for reading and for all of the feedback on this story! We really appreciate it!**


	18. Brave

" _ **Why, look you, she may cover it with a brooch, or such like heathenish adornment, and so walk the streets as brave as ever!"-Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter**_

* * *

Evie's mouth hurt from smiling. Her smile was set, as if it was foundation that had worn its way into her skin. With each step across the football field her smile stayed in place, a perfectly placed brooch, and only Evie herself could feel the pinprick stab. She tried not to make eye contact even as she waved to the crowd. But try as she could, she couldn't ignore the pointed glares she felt lobbed in her direction. Her new shoes pinched against her toes, but Evie continued to smile. She never knew a smile could be so painful.

 _Almost over_ Evie thought to herself. She just needed to walk a few more steps.

She thought of Steve. Steve was brave.

He held off four River King goons with a busted bottle. When he told the story later that night on the Curtis porch, sitting on the porch rail as nonchalantly as a mosquito on a watermelon, his voice cool as ever, even Ponyboy shook his head in amazement, "four guys?!"

It was only Evie and Soda, the two who know him best, who watched the way his legs wrapped tight around the porch rails.

Later, Steve confessed to Evie that it was only two guys.

"That's still brave," Evie told him, wrapping her arms around his wounded pride like a sly tigress.

She looked up and she saw Beth waving wildly at her. It was so easy to be young.

She tried to make eye contact with Steve again, but she lost him in the monotony of the crowd.

Steve was brave. Evie tried to keep that in mind as she walked down the field, she was brave, she was capable, she was able; so why did her stomach not get the memo?

While Evie waved at the crowd, her stomach digested every cruel glance, knowing snicker or blank stare. She was just glad that she couldn't hear what everyone was saying, but their faces did all the talking for them.

"Once more, please give a warm Ropers' cheer to your Homecoming Court." Evie sighed with relief. Never before had the static filled school loudspeaker sounded so sweet.

It was over.

She had made it.

 _Damn, did her feet hurt._

She gave Vickie Harper a brittle grin, "lovely day outside, isn't it?" her voice as chipper as she could make it.

"See you at the dance, Evelyn," her voice thick, sweet and Southern. Even in the cool autumn, her voice still had the capability to burn.

Evie was about to pull away, find Steve and get the hell outta dodge, when Bridget pulled on her elbow, "we have photos, remember?"

 _Damn it._

Her smile would have to stay in place a little bit longer.

XXXXX

"You nervous about the dance?" Evie bit into her limp, soggy fry and immediately put it down. Hospital food really did live up to its reputation.

Cathy began to shake her head no, but looking in Evie's eyes, eyes that were bold and honest and if Cathy was being honest; perhaps still a bit unnerving, she sighed.

"Not nervous about the dance, I've been dancing before, or about Ponyboy. I just feel that something is going to go down and I don't know how or even what." Cathy ran her finger over the edge of the plastic cafeteria trey.

Evie shook her head, "can't imagine you being afraid much of anything."

Cathy tilted her head, listening for the sound of sarcasm, Cathy prided herself on a finely honed sarcasm meter, but heard nothing.

Cathy did her best to keep the poker face of the game she never played, to look as calm and cool as Evie apparently thought she was, but her lip dropped a bit.

She laughed, a loud open chuckle. She quickly put her hand over her mouth. Gosh, she hoped Evie wouldn't think she was laughing at her. She tried to stop laughing, she really did, but it was hard.

"Me? Unafraid?" Cathy laughed again.

"I was terrified of getting _my_ hair cut for pete's sake, believe me, there is so much that scares me." she said with a wink. She hoped the movement of her eye would hide the slight raised pitch in her voice. It was true, she was afraid that her father would lose his job, afraid there wasn't going to be money for college, afraid she would work everything she had and it still wouldn't be good enough.

Even leaving her family and working her way through private school, had terrified her.

Evie shrugged, "but you did it, and now look at ya, practically _Cosmo_ material, of course, your fabulous hair designer," Evie said in a hoity French accent, "would love to take some credit for it."

Cathy let out a smile, Evie had a sardonic wit, it was unusual to see her be almost, well, goofy.

Evie was right. Cathy was afraid of things, but she had never given up, she was scared of leaving home and she did it, afraid of changing her hairstyle and she did that. She may have been scared but that never stopped her.

"Besides," Evie said with a raised eye, "I heard what happened between you and Angela, anyone who goes after Angela Shepard has got to be plenty brave and…" Evie let her voice drop, "plenty stupid." But she was smiling.

"I didn't get into anything with Angela," Cathy said quickly. She didn't want to have a reputation for being a tough chick, even among acquaintances like Evie who admired that quality. "What did you hear?" she asked quickly, good Lord, what were people saying? Cathy's stomach took a stumble.

"Just that Shepard was being her angelic self and you didn't want to deal with it. Don't blame ya one bit."

This surprised Cathy, she thought Evie was friends with Angela or at least that middle ground between mere acquaintance and friend. But Evie scoffed, "she was never my friend."

"You seemed to get along with her just fine when you were doing her nails," Cathy looked down, admiring her own newly manicured set.

Evie shrugged "we get along, but believe me Shepard ain't my friend."

Cathy wanted to ask Evie who then exactly was her friend? But she kept quiet.

"So you have much experience dancing?" Evie bit down on her straw, she didn't expect Cathy to have much experience, she looked like the mousy type, but looks Evie knew could be deceiving. She wouldn't have pegged Cathy as the type of girl to stand up to Angela Shepard either, but she did.

What she didn't expect was the way Cathy shot up, as if a starter pistol had been aimed at her ass, her eyes popped open, her mouth, well, Evie never saw Cathy's back teeth before.

"Oh gosh! I love dancing!"

Her enthusiasm, raw and unbaked, surprised Evie. She didn't think she'd ever seen Cathy this excited about, well anything. If it were anyone else she would have thought they'd taken too much pep pills, but she doubted that Cathy knew anything about the seamier side of life. Hell, she was still digesting the fact that the black haired sophomore smoked.

There was only one year difference between Beth and Cathy, but Evie couldn't help but feel that the grey eyed girl was prematurely old. She reminded her a bit of Darrel Curtis. But this Cathy was almost coltish.

"What kind of dancing? Modern? Ballroom?"

"Mostly modern, but," Cathy's voice tapered off.

Evie put her hands out, palms open, a Beth move if there ever was one.

"But what? You can't just leave me hanging. If you're gonna be putting all of us to shame on the dance floor, my ego needs to know about it."

Cathy didn't know why she felt uncomfortable, but did.

"I use to take lessons at The Pink Barn." The Pink Barn was an incubator for the future Vickie Harpers of the worlds. In Tulsa dance lessons there was a prerequisite to join high society. It was also, Evie had imagined, expensive as shit. It was the type of place she'd imagine Bridget Stevens attending as a child if she grew up in Tulsa.

Yup, Cathy _definitely_ never heard of bennies.

"Where did your folks get the money?" Cathy's folks weren't well off and she had about a zillion siblings clinging around, she couldn't imagine anyone from their neighborhood taking lessons at The Pink Barn. Of course there were clubs, scouts, church youth groups, the "Y", sports teams, but The Pink Barn was out of reach.

Cathy tucked her fingers around her change purse. It wasn't polite to talk about money, her Aunt Rita had instilled that lesson into her from an early age, but she also instilled the lesson that masturbating inevitably led to blindness.

"We didn't have a lot of money, but my parents always would skimp and save so we could do one special activity, for me, it was dancing." Even as their food budget was stretched enough times to form a Gordian knot around the dented cans which filled the shelves, her parents always tried to give their children the same advantages as wealthier children.

Evie thought it was a complete waste of money, but seeing the spark still in Cathy's eyes, she smiled, "that's nice."

XXXXX

Lynette was bored. That was better than the alternative she supposed. Lynette had diabetes and high risk pregnancy, she was supposed to spend her pregnancy at the Salvation Army Home for Unwed Mothers, hidden away from polite society and girls who didn't spread their legs open like the doors at the A&P, but an early scare meant she was forced to spend her pregnancy at bed rest in the hospital.

She didn't mind it. The girls at the home annoyed her; half of them still had fantasies about their boyfriend gallantly sweeping in, carrying their pregnant masses over the threshold and into wedded bliss.

As if their boyfriends would return for them, as if their parents would forgive them, as if their boyfriends could even lift them up without pulling every muscle in their back.

Lynette knew better. Her baby may have been conceived in broken lambskin but its fate was chiseled in the promise of sheepskin. "We can't get married, baby, I'm going to college," and now Lynette was going to have a baby, alone. Then the baby would be taken, given to a 'good family' and Lynette would return to school, as if nothing had happened.

It wasn't fair, this was her baby, as much as it was his, but what choice did she have? She didn't have a family to support her and she couldn't make her baby a bastard. She knew exactly what would happen.

After the nurses made him all nice and cozy they would fill out his birth certificate in their careful handwriting, have Lynette sign it and stamp 'illegitimate' in siren red across the clean crisp white sheet with her baby's name dyeing through the page.

No, she may be a lousy person, a 'goddamned whore' her mother called her, not just a regular whore, but a 'goddamned' one; but Lynette wasn't going to do that to her baby. That would be unforgivable.

So she did the only thing she could do, she waited, waited for that day to come and for this all to be over. Then she would feel a particularly strong, painful kick and she realized that it would never truly be over.

"Hey, how are ya?" Evie poked her head into Lynette's room.

The nurses at the hospital were all professional but some treated Lynette as if she was carrying a rare tropical disease. But Evie would always stop by, if just for a few minutes and say hi.

Evie was a better friend to her than anyone else at this moment. The thought did not fill Lynette with warmth, just the opposite. This random girl should not be a better friend then her lifelong childhood friends, her parents or her boyfriend. But she was. Lynette also knew that real friendship was based on more than just five minutes of small talk every now and then. But this was all she had.

"So, you working this weekend?" Lynette hoped so, weekends were especially boring.

"Nah, I have Homecoming." The moment those words entered the air Evie wished she could pull them back. _I have Homecoming_. Evie's voice mocked in her mind. Compared to what Lynette was facing, Homecoming and all of the secret worries she stuffed down about what could happen at the dance seemed downright childish.

But Lynette didn't seem to notice. "Your boyfriend taking you?"

Evie nodded, she couldn't believe that she had convinced the hot tempered, prideful young man to actually go to the dance, but she did.

" _You, Evie Martin are a miracle worker," Two-Bit had crowed._

" _Yeah?" Evie moved closer, sticking her finger out, she liked joshing with Two-Bit, "the real miracle would be if you ever trim those damn side burns."_

"He treat you well?" Lynette's eyes didn't move off Evie as she waited for an answer.

Evie didn't have to think about it, or stumble, or try to make a joke or sarcastic remark; instead, she smiled, "yeah. He does."

Steve loved her, even more than that, he respected her. Those qualities in Evie which would have turned off most guys: her brashness, her brittleness was welcomed with open arms by Steve.

Sometimes Evie would think of Lynette and wonder how Steve would react if she got knocked up, would he run out her like Lynette's boyfriend did?

But Evie knew the answer as well as she knew herself. Steve would be there for her. He was always there for her, always would be too, and she would always be there for him. She was still young and she knew plenty of couples that everyone thought would get married in a few years, like Soda and Sandy blew up; but deep inside she knew that she and Steve were different.

The past few weeks it was painfully obvious to Evie all the things she didn't have, like a pink telephone, but now she couldn't help but think of all the things she did have, parents who loved her, a good boyfriend, and she thought of Ella, Cathy and yes, even Bridget; and maybe a pack of girls who understood her.

She was lucky.

XXXXX

Curly had ragged on Angela all week, "can't believe little Angel Shepard is going to Homecoming. What's next Ang, joining a country club?" Curly burst out laughing as if his joke was actually funny and not a cornponed Henny Youngman knockoff.

"Aww, fuck off Curly," Angela pushed her brother aside, "you're just upset no girl wants you." It wasn't exactly true, Curly had some girls hanging around him, but right now out of all the Shepard offspring only Angela had a steady.

Curly sure knew how to make a girl feel uncomfortable, but Tim was worse. God forbid Angela was more than two minutes late from a date, he'd send off the hounds on her.

" _Y'all need to stop poking your nose where it don't belong," she told her eldest brother while brushing through her long, wavy black hair._

" _Behave like a lady and I wouldn't have to keep my eyes on you," was Tim's simple retort._

 _Behave like a lady. When she was younger Angela's mother, when she wasn't knee deep in some bender, bristled at her tomboy daughter. Angela got in fights, climbed trees, got in fights, wore Curly's hand me downs not out of necessity but want, and oh, got in fights._

" _Would it kill ya to fix your hair once in a while? You look like a ragamuffin running around like that," Ma complained._

" _Better than a whore," her Stepfather complained, a cold eye glanced in Ma's direction._

 _Now that Angela was growing older and into boys and wearing makeup and fixing her hair up, 'behaving like a lady' took on a whole new meaning._

 _Ma's squawking was bad enough, but it was nothing compared to warden Tim: "the skirt you wear don't leave much to the imagination, do it?" Tim let his words saturate the air as if it was some profound shit._

" _Everyone is wearing their skirts this length, hell, you didn't complain when Edie Wallace was wearing a skirt a whole lot shorter than this, and from the sounds comin' from your bedroom, it sounded like you rather enjoyed it." Seeing Tim's face flash red, she decided to poke him further and mimicked the joyous screams and panting she heard through her thin walls._

" _For someone who never listens, you sure do got some ears on you, little sister. You just made my point for me, Angel, I have enough trouble without hearing my little sister is trying to outdo the neighborhood whore."_

 _So that was it, being a lady meant finding that sweet spot between being a tomboy and a whore, and where that sweet spot was seemed to change on a daily basis. No matter what Angela did, no matter what she wore, it was never good enough._

 _Not that there wasn't a good side to being the only Shepard girl, Angela only had to meekly (a feat she could pull off with surprising ease) suggest that some guy was looking at her the wrong way and Tim and Curly would be all over them._

 _Just threatening to sic her brothers on some pimply faced would-be-JD was enough to get her way._

She still didn't want to bring Bryon home to her mom and step father. Bryon was different, even in looks; he had that broad shoulder, husky build that reminded Angela of a football player. He grew up in the same neighborhood, didn't have a daddy at home but his mom was always sweet to Angela.

Angela knew she was attractive, she'd been drawing glances and wolf whistles from men since she left elementary school, but she never imagined getting someone like Bryon Douglas to give her a second glance.

He was a good guy, almost like Pony Curtis.

Speaking of…

Angela couldn't believe how Pony ended up dating that stuck up snob Cathy Carlson. She remembered their last interaction with each other, Cathy was taking her good old time walking down the hallway and Angela just politely suggested that the girl move her ass out of the fucking way.

Cathy tried to ignore her, most girls didn't want to mess with Angela Shepard, but instead turned on her foot and faced the petite teen. "Gee, you sure sound like a real lady."

XXXXX

Cathy couldn't stop thinking about Bridget Stevens. Ella didn't have her father around and that was horrible enough, but Cathy felt it was a special horror for a girl not to know her mother. Mrs. Carlson was the former Sara Claudia Baker of Georgia. Her wedding picture showed a Georgia peach with soft features and luscious spools of ink black hair. It was strange thinking of your parents as being good looking, but Sara Baker was a beauty. Her wedding dress wasn't expensive, it was plain, but beautifully fitted and when she was younger Cathy thought that her mother looked like Snow White.

Cathy watched her mother, age and seven children had greatly expanded her waist line, her hair, still dark with a few strips of grey; straighten out the living room.

"Are you nervous?" Mrs. Carlson hovered over daughter.

Cathy had no idea why everyone asked her that. She was wondering if she was going to the moon and not a little high school Homecoming Dance. Cathy watched a T.V. show about going to the moon someday. Some people thought it would happen by the end of the decade, but Cathy wasn't so sure.

"No," Cathy flattened her hair, hoping that her lie wasn't blatantly obvious.

Mrs. Carlson picked up one of Jenny's stuffed dolls that had fallen between sofa seats.

"Cathy, it's your first dance it's okay to be a bit nervous."

Except it wasn't Cathy's first dance. She had attended a small dance with Mike, but this was her first _real_ dance.

"My mother would have a fit if was dating at fifteen," there was a not subtle longing in her voice and Cathy wondered if maybe her mother had a hidden flame before she met Daddy. Cathy cringed.

"Something went down the wrong way?" Mrs. Carlson's grin was large and lively.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Momma?" Cathy had so much she wanted to say to her mother, but she had no idea how. "Thank you."

Mrs. Carlson looked surprised, "for what?"

"For letting me take dance lessons as a child, I really enjoyed them."

"Of course darling, a proper Southern lady always knows the art of dancing." She gave her eldest daughter a wink.

Cathy stood up and straightened one of the sofa's pillows. Thank you felt so inadequate.

XXXXX

Bridget Stevens felt like she was hosting a fancy dinner party. A fancy dinner party that just happen to take place in a make-shift salon.

" _Add an extra 'o' to the word and then you're talking about my kind of place," Two-Bit retorted as they stood in the school foyer._

 _Evie, sitting on the bench, halfheartedly reading her book, looked up, "aww, look at y'all, already bickering like an old married couple, excuse me while I go throw up," she let out a genuine laugh and winked at Bridget._

 _Bridget felt a warm sensation fill her chest; she remembered the way Evie had glared at her weeks ago in English class, the way her cold eyes seemed to build a wall between them that was impossible to scale no matter how hard Bridget tried._

 _But with this wink, Bridget wasn't on the outside anymore, she was a part of the joke. Evie's joke wasn't meant to isolate her or make her uncomfortable, it was meant to include her._

 _For the first time since that fateful day in English class, Bridget felt completely forgiven for her rude comment. Who knew that a wink was such a precious gift?_

 _Neither girl would call each other a good friend, but it was amazing how much was carried in a simple joke, how even the smallest of gestures could mean so much._

Now as she prepared her house for all the girls who were coming for their Homecoming hairdos she felt lighter than she had in weeks.

But that didn't mean that there wasn't still some nerves bubbling up in her stomach. She told herself that she didn't care about being crowned Homecoming Queen and really, she didn't; it was an antiquated tradition anyway. But when she closed her eyes, she sometimes imagined what it would feel like to have the crown be put on her head.

Her dream would immediately end just as the crown hovered over her head. It was better that way Bridget decided; the crown would only give her a headache.

XXXXX

The doorbell rang and there stood Evie, Ella and Cathy.

Evie was no longer intimidated when she entered the Stevens home, not that she would ever admit to being intimidated in the first place. She still didn't see the point in living in a house that could double up as a museum, she no longer dreaded walking up the driveway.

"Joan and Angela should be over soon," Ella didn't miss the subtle rolling of the eyes that comment elicited from Cathy. She hoped everything would be okay, they had enough to deal with Vickie Harper hovering in the distance like a dark shadow. Couldn't crises come one at a time?

It was funny, Ella thought she'd be nervous last night but everything went smoothly. Evie was a natural, not just in her skills but the way worked efficiently and professionally. Evie had a brash side to her, she was slow to warm up to people, even if Ella knew better than most the full depth the teen possessed. But last night as she did manicures for all of those girls those very qualities that made it hard for people to get to know the real Evie Martin were her greatest assets.

"I'm glad we didn't have this at my house," Cathy washing her hands in a bathroom sink called out. Between Jenny, Petey, Chris and Bonnie I don't think any of us would make it out alive!" She said in a bright tone.

"Six siblings," Evie muttered as she organized her combs. "Hey, did anyone give you any problems because you came from a large family?"

Bridget's eyes widened slightly, having no siblings of her own, she had no idea anyone would ever give a Cathy a rough time for coming from a big family.

"Not really. Once when I was little and Momma had me, Winnie-I mean M&M, Bonnie and Leslie and she was pregnant again some lady muttered a really nasty comment about the Pope under her breath as she walked past us. Of course at the time I didn't put two and two together." Cathy tried to laugh but Ella could sense she was uncomfortable. Ella knew it was hard for the younger girl to be vulnerable and open.

Ella meant it when she told Cathy that she wasn't overweight, but she wondered if deep down the younger girl secretly believed the nasty things Vickie had said about her. She noticed the younger girl wasn't wearing her flower and yellow jumpers as much, but instead was wearing dresses and skirts. She hoped Cathy had changed her wardrobe because she wanted to, not because of Vickie's comments.

Ella understood, it didn't matter that she had new friends, that she was dating THE Craig Bryant; when she got home and put her Beatles album on the record player under the sweet tones of Paul's voice was an even louder voice. The voice that told Ella that her skin was too pale, her hair too frizzy, that she was a loner and a loser and in no time Craig would realize that. The voice was her own. It never shut up.

Ella shook her head, she couldn't think this way, she wouldn't let her negative thoughts cloud her mind. She was dating Craig Bryant, she was going to Homecoming, she was helping Evie run her salon. She knew she was capable and able to handle anything that came her way.

The girls began to talk about their boyfriends, Evie both by nature of her personality and the length of her relationship spoke the most, but every now and then the other girls spoke up and Evie could tell that both Ella and Cathy were excited about not just the dance, but their boyfriends as well.

A sinking feeling weaved down Bridget's stomach. On paper she was the one who had it all. Her boyfriend was gorgeous, a star athlete, smart and a nice guy. On paper she was the one who hit the home run, so why did everything feel so wrong to her?

"Everything okay, Bridget?" Cathy looked at her with concern and Bridget smiled weakly, Cathy may have been only fifteen but she had an uncanny and unnerving ability to pick up Bridget's emotions.

"Oh yes, just thinking."

"Well cut it out Stevens, we got work to do!" Evie laughed.

Angela and Joan arrived ten minutes late.

"Nice for you to be on time, Shepard." Evie snapped. It actually hurt her. She and the other girls had spent all of this time not to mention money, well, _Bridget_ spent the money and here Angela and this Joan girl no one even knew, didn't even have the decency to show up on time.

"Sorry we're late, had a last minute errand to run." Angela seemed genuinely apologetic, which threw Evie for an even bigger loop.

"It's fine, Cathy will start on your hair."

"Hell no! She's not doing my hair! I thought you were doing it. I'm not having _her_ fix my hair." Angela's eyes turned an interesting shade of fire.

"Christ, Angela, I'm doing your hair Cathy is just going to wash it."

With that Angela slinked over to the sink Cathy stood at.

Cathy cringed, she wished she would had just ignored Angela's rude comments earlier even if she would have hated herself for not standing up to her.

"Be careful, my scalp is very delicate," Bridget and Cathy shared a rolled eye. Bridget found it hard to imagine anything about Angela Shepard being delicate.

Ella looked at the clock, she was anxious for Evie to finish with Joan and Angela so she could start working on their hair, she was even more anxious to see Craig.

The doorbell rang and the girls looked at each other, there was no one else on the list for tonight. _Please be a Jehovah's Witness_ Bridget silently prayed, _please be a Jehovah's Witness_.

Nope, through the peep hole she saw Vickie Harper. Of course she looked gorgeous. Movie star gorgeous. For a second Bridget thought about not answering the door, but Vickie knew she was home, it would look worse if she didn't answer.

"What are you doing here?" Bridget said shortly. She cringed on the inside, even while she maintained her steely gaze. It wasn't in Bridget's mindset to be rude.

"Nice to see your new friends have washed off on you," Vickie said in a low voice.

"What's going on?" Evie called out.

"Oh! Is that Evelyn?"

"Christ almighty..." Evie showed off her linguistic skills in swearing.

"You looked so beautiful in your Homecoming Court photo!" Vickie called out. The Homecoming Court all had to take individual poses that would be used as a background slide show that night. Evie thought it was ridiculous. The photos would be used in the yearbook as well. The yearbook staff was overzealous, it seemed like every other day she would see the flash of a camera light in the hall.

"Just capturing some candids," some girl named Donna said brightly. Evie knew her name because she wore a name tag around her neck, "Donna: Yearbook Photographer." Evie thought it was all ridiculous.

Ella went to the front door and stood next to Bridget, she didn't feel particularly brave, but she didn't want Bridget to face Vickie alone, and she certainly didn't want Cathy to have to face her.

"Ouch!" Angela snapped up and glared at Cathy, "fuck, you trying to kill me?"

"Sorry." Cathy never understood girls who swore, she said hell and damn sometimes but saying 'fuck' even in her mind made her feel dirty. If Daddy heard her say that word he'd wash her mouth out with soap so good she could open a laundrymat in her mouth.

"What are you doing here?" Bridget tried her best not to break her gaze from Vickie, but her nerves were making that difficult.

"I forgot you have your little play salon tonight, that's wonderful. Oh and Ella and Catherine are here! How delightful. Well I best be on my way, but I came by to drop off your book, you left it in the library. I didn't want you to have to pay for a replacement copy."

Vickie handed Bridget her copy of " _Their Eyes Were Watching God_."

"Thanks," Bridget said softly.

Vickie nodded and turned away. As she was getting into her car she turned around one last time and looked straight into Bridget's green eyes.

Holding the worn book in her hand Bridget couldn't help but think the title was omen.

XXXXX

 ** _S.E. Hinton owns_**

 ** _Thank you._**


	19. The Dance is The Thing

_"She knew things that nobody had ever told her. For instance, the words of the trees and the wind. She often spoke to falling seeds and said, 'Ah hope you fall on soft ground,' because she had heard seeds saying that to each other as they passed."_ – Zora Neale Hurston, _Their Eyes Were Watching God_

Angela stood in front of the mirror, admiring herself. She'd left the powder room door open, so Bridget could watch from her awkward angle to make sure admiring herself was _all_ she was doing, not snooping around. At one point, she tried to lean forward a bit, but Evie yanked her back.

"Don't move," she grumbled. "Want to screw me up?"

"No," Bridget said meekly. "Sorry."

Evie shook her head, but Bridget couldn't see her, so it didn't matter. Meanwhile, Ella and Cathy, completely done-up, were waiting their turn to get a look at Evie's handiwork, but Angela seemed completely engrossed in herself. Ella couldn't understand how someone could stand to look at themselves for that long – Ella only did so if she was picking herself apart.

"You guys can go upstairs," Bridget called. "To my room. You, too, Joan," Bridget added, cringing a bit at letting a near-stranger upstairs, but ignoring it.

The three others rushed upstairs, bumping into each other and crowding around Bridget's vanity, trying to get a good look at themselves. To say what they saw was a shock would be an understatement. Joan looked happy with her up-do, but Cathy and Ella retreated to Bridget's en suite and stared more at each other's hair than their own.

"She, uh…"

"Lookit you…"

Cathy put a hand to her head and looked in the mirror. Her hair had never been anything but stick-straight, but now fell in soft waves that framed her face perfectly. And Ella? Well, Ella's hair had been painstakingly done in perfect ringlets.

"Oh my god," Ella breathed.

"She is good," Cathy finished for her.

Downstairs, Evie was finishing up her most challenging customer. Bridget's hair had to first be straightened, which was so long it reached her ass, and then instead of ringlets, which she usually had anyways, Evie was essentially sculpting the girl's hair – pinning and curling and spraying – until the ends had been curled up so short she looked like Mary Tyler Moore. Smooth and shiny.

"You can look now," Evie murmured, feeling a bit exhausted. But at least they'd all paid.

Bridget picked up the little mirror Evie had brought (since Angela was still staring at herself) and almost cried. So her hair _was_ tamable. "Jesus, Mary, and _Joseph_ ," she whispered, and Evie chuckled.

"Good, huh?"

"Amazing." She looked up at Evie. "Thank you."

"No problem."

"Really, Evie. It was really nice of you to do all of this for us."

"Seriously, it was no problem," Evie insisted.

(Even though it kinda was.)

After Angela and Joan had paid and been ushered out, Ella and Cathy came back downstairs, still looking a bit shell-shocked. Evie smiled at them. "Like?"

"Love," Cathy spoke for both of them, and Ella nodded.

"Good," Evie said. "Cathy, I'll see you tonight at the Curtis's?" Cathy nodded. "'Kay. Good."

There was a long beat of silence. The four girls traded looks, small sighs, knowing glances. Tonight was the night. Tonight was _the_ night. Now that it was here, it felt so surreal, like it wasn't ever going to come.

"I guess I'll…see all of you tonight," Evie continued. The rest of them nodded.

Bridget waved to them from the porch.

XXXXX

Vickie was feelin' _good_. Everything was going according to plan. If Friday night at the game hadn't been humiliating enough for Evie, then tonight would certainly take the cake. A morning spent in the dark room with a girl named Donna had really paid off; pictures from not only last night's homecoming game, but throughout the year, had been developed and ready for the yearbook. But there was one that Vickie had gotten a glimpse of, and she held it up in the red light.

"What's this from?" She'd asked Donna. Donna peered over her shoulder.

"Oh. It's just a candid."

 _Just_ a candid? It was much more than that. Vickie shoved the picture back at the awkward girl, gesturing to the subject matter she was most interested in. "Blow this up so that we can see the two of them."

So Donna blew up the picture so that Steve Randle and Evie Martin sneaking into the janitor's closet with Randle's hand already crawling up her leg to her ass could be clearly seen. Vickie smirked; she grabbed a permanent marker and wrote a message on it, just below the couple so that both the picture and the message could be easily seen. "Now – make copies."

Donna had made copies. She had made plenty of copies – enough for the whole school to see. And where would most of the school be tonight? That's right – at the homecoming dance.

"I don't see what's so special about this one…I thought you just wanted to go over the ones from last night?"

Vickie didn't care to explain. So maybe Evie had been able to withstand last night, with the convertible ride and the pictures with a group of people she most certainly did _not_ belong with, but she'd like to see the look on her face when these pictures with this message made its way through the crowds tonight because right underneath Steve Randle's claw, she'd written, simply:

 _"WHORE."_

In bright red.

XXXXX

"Oh, Bridget, I do like that color on you!"

Bridget favored Cherry with a genuine smile. When she had told Jerry that she'd gone with a pink dress, he'd looked a bit skeptical, but he'd played along and went and bought a coral tie. Jerry really was a good sport, and Bridget knew she had the best of the bunch, she really did. Well, of one _particular_ bunch, she did. There was a part of her, she had to acknowledge, that wanted to be with someone else. And not just a different boy, either, great as Jerry was. No, she was wishing Cathy and Evie could be here, too. Maybe she could say hello at the dance – if it didn't end up being a total disaster, that is.

"And it was real nice of your dad to let us meet here to take pictures," Missy said as she admired Marcia's dress.

"Well, seems I've been playing hostess plenty these days anyway…" Bridget trailed off, not wanting to get into it. "Besides, Vickie said her parents were out of town."

Marcia looked at her friend quizzically. "They are? But I just saw Mrs. Harper this morning."

Bridget dropped her hands to her sides. "Really?" she squeaked. Marcia nodded, and then Vickie came out of Bridget's bathroom. She'd claimed she was too shy to undress in front of the rest of them, which her friends had all shared an eye-roll over. They all suspected that Vickie had just wanted to make an entrance.

And make an entrance she did. Bridget should have guessed that Vickie wouldn't let anyone one-up her. She was like a blonde Audrey Hepburn from _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ , and Bridget was like Charmain Carr singing "Sixteen Going on Seventeen." One of them looked like a woman, and one of them looked like a little girl. Bridget bit back a snide remark about Vickie's dress maybe not being appropriate for a school dance; much too adult, really. But she didn't want to make this night any harder than she would suspect it would be.

"That dress is to _die_ for!" Missy gasped dramatically, and she and Marcia eagerly rushed over to examine.

Vickie glanced over at Bridget with a smirk on her face, and Bridget's heart sank. She was certainly feeling self-conscious now. What did Jerry see in her? As the couples gathered downstairs to wait on the last of their party – Craig and Ella – and the boys went off to talk about football and congratulate each other on the big win last night, the girls congregated.

"Are y'all nervous?" Marcia asked, referring to the three present nominees for homecoming queen.

"No," Cherry and Vickie said, at the same time Bridget said, "A little," all simultaneously. Marcia and Missy giggled.

"It's not even a big deal," Cherry shrugged. "It really doesn't matter who wins."

"So you wouldn't care if Evie Martin won?" Vickie asked the redhead, an eyebrow raised. Bridget felt her chest tighten.

"No," Cherry shook her head, but she didn't sound very convincing.

Bridget took a deep breath – time to be brave. "Cherry's right – I really don't think it matters. And who knows? Maybe Evie came by it honest."

Vickie narrowed her eyes, but Bridget stood her ground. "Maybe you've been hanging around her too much. She's got you on her side."

"I'm not on anyone's side," Bridget said coolly, shrugging.

"Speaking of…Evie sure did wonders for that mane of yours," Vickie said, playing nice, but not really. Bridget put her hand self-consciously to her hair and tried to smile.

"Thank you," she muttered. "She's really very good. You should see Ella's."

Just then, Ella and Craig pulled up in front of the Stevens' household, and Vickie's eyes went wide. "I think I'm about to!"

Craig helped Ella out of his car, and as soon as the other girls saw Craig's date, Vickie was no longer the center of attention. As the couple made their way up the Stevens' front walk, all eyes were on Ella Mitchell and her little black dress. Bridget felt a bit smug; good to see that Vickie's plan wasn't going to executed as perfectly as she wanted it to (even if it did, in the end, still get executed).

"…hemmed it myself," Bridget overheard Ella say once she'd come back down to Earth.

"Well, it's beautiful," Bridget interjected, smiling at her friend. She knew that a few well-placed and well-worded remarks would get right under Vickie's skin. Bridget was sure that Ella getting even this much attention was enough to start to get frustrated. "And your _hair!_ Seriously, Ella, you look amazing."

She couldn't see her at the moment, but Vickie was standing behind all of them with her arms crossed, glaring dangerously at who she _thought_ were her _friends_.

Across town, the Curtis household was a hub of activity. Those _with_ dates were waiting on those without, namely Dallas Winston, who was trying to get out of wearing a tie. ("Blend, man, we gotta blend!" Two-Bit had told him.) Cathy was glad they were all going as a group, even if Dallas was a part of it. She could focus on talking to Ponyboy, or with Evie. Well, if Steve would let go of her, that is. Seems they'd made up after their fight the other day.

"Steve just…goes off sometimes," Evie had explained to Cathy as she'd done her hair earlier that day. Cathy wondered if this was what it was like to have a hairdresser you could gab with. Actually, just having a friend she could gab with.

"Hey, y'all! Miss me?"

Cathy was beginning to learn that Two-Bit Mathews never missed an opportunity to make an entrance, and tonight was no exception. He waltzed into the Curtis household in a suit, complete with cowboy boots and hat. Cathy was also learning that Two-Bit Mathews never missed an opportunity to make a joke, even of himself, and his friends payed him in laughter. Soda whistled sharply.

"How- _dy_. Come to sweep me off my feet, cowboy?"

Two-Bit snorted with laughter. "Ain't my type."

"Church duds?" Steve guessed. Two-Bit snapped and pointed at him – _bingo_.

"Ya think my mother was gonna let me out the door in anything else?"

"Dunno, that woman lets you get away with murder," Steve mumbled, and everyone close enough to hear his comment laughed, even Cathy, who didn't really get the jab. She looked over at Pony, who was looking just about done with everybody, and smiled.

"You have interesting friends," she said quietly.

"That's one word for 'em," he grumbled.

"I like them."

As much as they annoyed him, Ponyboy perked up a bit when his date said that. Because yeah, Darry and Sodapop had to leave him behind a lot to go to work, and Dallas was a bona fide JD, and Two-Bit couldn't shut up to save his life, and Steve was snarky and almost always pissed off, but they were his family. They were all he had. (But he was hoping now that he had Cathy, too.) "You do?" He asked, feeling a bit silly. Cathy laughed.

" _Yes_. I do! Well, for the most part," she added. It was a well-timed addition, too, because that was when Dallas appeared in a, yes, a tie.

"Let's get the fuck outta here," he grumbled, and that seemed to be everybody's cue to fall out.

Steve refused to drive anybody else, so Cathy and Pony got stuck with Dallas and Two-Bit, which struck Evie as both funny and a bit disappointing – she'd wanted to talk with Cathy on the way over, but Steve didn't seem too keen on chauffeuring a couple teenyboppers over to the school. So Steve drove, one hand on the wheel and the other on her thigh. Evie wondered how her sister's night was going with her friends. None of them had dates or potential humiliation to worry about. Not tonight.

"Evie."

When she heard Steve's voice, Evie held back a moment from getting out once they'd gotten to the school. Steve looked very serious, and very, _very_ concerned. "Steve?"

Steve took a deep breath. "Just…whatever happens tonight, I need you to know it ain't your fault. And that I love you."

Evie stared at her boyfriend. She had no clue what he was talking about, not really, but – "I love you, too, Stevie."

XXXXX

"You ready, man?"

Dallas nodded at his buddy without looking him in the eye. "Ready."

They set to work. Counting ain't a large task, but keeping from being caught can be. Every time Vickie, Evie, or George's name pops up, they're pulled from the pile and shuffled to the side. Other than that, the whole process is very honest, and doesn't take long – though, it seems the entire student population made sure to vote. That, or someone was stuffing. When all is said and done, Dallas having finished tallying votes for king and Two-Bit having finished tallying votes for queen, it comes out just about how they expected: Randy is king, and Cherry is queen.

"Fuckin' perfect," Dallas mutters, shaking his head. Two-Bit sighs. For some reason, this doesn't feel as good as he thought it would, and not because of the cheating and the lying and the influencing.

"Yeah," Two-Bit sighed again. "Well. That's that."

"Guess so."

The back room they're in is lit only by one flickering fluorescent light. They could both hear the commotion in the varsity gym; it's loud as hell. The committee had really played up the whole "Midnight in Paris" theme, and swinging dance music and plenty of overplayed hits could be heard.

"It's sorta honest, at least," Two-Bit continued.

"I don't care about that part," Dallas shrugged. "Just care that Harper and Clayton don't win, and that Randle's girl don't get humiliated. Couldn't give less of a shit what happens after that."

Two-Bit wouldn't say anything, but he cared a little. Cherry Valance wasn't exactly who he was pulling for – but it wasn't like he really cared about this sort of stuff anyway. Right?

…Right?

Dallas wrote down Cherry and Randy's names on a slip of paper and held it out to Two-Bit. "Take this to Mrs. G."

Two-Bit snatched up the piece of paper, sneered at it, then folded it up. "Gotcha."

But Two-Bit just kinda…sat there. Dallas glared at his friend. "How 'bout now?" He snapped. Two-Bit snapped and pointed at him, and beat it out of there. And Dallas deflated.

XXXXX

Bridget held onto Jerry's arm as they made their way through the gym, people stopping them every now and then (more than that, really) to congratulate him on last night's win. _What a pass, buddy! Sure know how to toss that pigskin. Had us bitin' our nails with some'a those plays!_ Bridget really had no idea what any of it meant, but she remembered being there, on the sidelines, cheering. And she remembered halftime, sitting next to Jerry for the convertible ride, smiling and waving and holding onto him like she was now, even though he was sweaty and tired.

She also remembered the rest of it. With Vickie's plotting and Evie's discomfort.

It had been an eventful twenty-four hours.

"You okay? You look like you're a million miles away right now," Jerry laughed. Bridget smiled up at him and nodded.

"I'm okay," she whispered. Then, louder and perkier, "Let's dance!"

While Bridget and Jerry were tearing up the dance floor and drawing a crowd, Ella and Craig were off more by themselves, slow dancing to pretty much every song that came on, even if it was a fast one. Neither of them seemed to want to do anything else, though, and Ella smiled up dreamily at her date, who himself looked pretty pleased.

"You nervous?" Ella asked.

"About what?"

"About whether or not you'll win."

Craig laughed. "Not really. It's not that big a deal."

"It is to Vickie Harper and George Clayton," Ella muttered. Craig shrugged.

"Yeah, well, that's their deal. If they want it so bad, I figure they can have it."

And Vickie was trying her damnedest to get it because at that moment, she'd detached herself from her date and was busy sticking up copies of her flyers around the gym and placing them in spots where people would conveniently be: right by the punch bowl was prime real estate. So while everyone danced around her, enjoying themselves, Vickie was putting Plan B into place. Hell, it might even become part of Plan A, if everything went accordingly.

"You look worried," Pony said to Cathy. "You okay?"

Pony wasn't a great dancer, but he could sorta shuffle back and forth, which Cathy seemed happy with. (Though, the girl had gotten a glimpse at Bridget and Jerry Thompson and the fun they were having in the center of the dance floor, a crowd around them, and wished Pony would let her dance lessons be put to good use.) "I'm fine," she lied. "Really. You look very handsome tonight."

Pony perked up. "I do?" Cathy smiled and nodded.

"Definitely."

"At this time, we're going to ask that all nominees for king and queen please come up on stage."

Showtime.

For some reason, this announcement generated a great deal of applause as the ten nominees climbed up on stage and stood behind Principal Vernon. Vickie stared smugly ahead, while Bridget exchanged worried glances with Cherry and Evie (Lucy was a non-issue), who was clearly struggling to keep her composure – at least, to the trained eye. From his spot on the gym floor, Steve watched on and…well, he guessed he prayed that this wouldn't end horribly. Two-Bit and Dallas were feeling the same way, too, only they knew what the outcome was going to be. Well, the immediate outcome, that is. No one had any idea what the long-term damage was going to be.

At the same time

"Principal Vernon," Vickie whispered, "may I have a moment with the microphone?" The man nodded, himself not quite able to break from the young girl's influence, and let her step in front of the microphone. "Good evening, Ropers!" she grinned, and suddenly, everyone's attention was back on her and the stage. "Let's give a to this year's homecoming committee for putting this all together!" Her audience readily complied, and Vickie favored all of them with a winning smile. Bridget could feel her heart crawling up into her throat, and she felt like she was going to throw up. Again.

"You okay?" Jerry asked her when she started gripping his arm so tight her nails were digging in.

"Fine," she said shakily. "Just…shh!" She said, flapping a hand towards Vickie as she wrapped up saying a long list of names.

"…oh, and of course, we can't forget the duo in charge of tabulating tonight's results, Two-Bit Mathews and Dallas Winston!" She sang. Again, there was applause, and Two-Bit and Dallas had retreated from their hideout and were now glaring up at Vickie. "Speaking of – without further ado, Principal Vernon is going to announce those results right now."

Everyone clapped – Vickie exaggeratingly so – as Principal Vernon stood back in front of the mic with the envelope that Mrs. Girdle had delivered to him in hand. A hush fell over the gym as the nominees stood back on stage and Vernon tore open the envelope. Steve could barely stand to watch, knowing that if Evie won, everyone would play it off like a huge joke and make fun of her until the cows came home.

"This year's homecoming king…" George and Vickie exchanged a look, and George winked as Vickie slowly grinned. "…is Randy Adderson."

There was raucous applause, and George's face fell. That wasn't supposed to happen. Dallas and Two-Bit breathed out sighs of relief – that had gone according to plan, at least. Randy seemed appreciative as he was crowned, but didn't seem to care all that much.

"And this year's queen…"

This was the moment everyone was waiting for. Nobody cared about the king, not really. Ella, Ponyboy, and Cathy stood on the floor, and if Pony had known this moment would have caused his date so much anxiety, he would've suggested they just go get ice cream or something. But now, Cathy was clutching his hand hard, and Ella was left to stand to her other side, waiting to see what was going to happen.

It was if the universe had been holding its breath as Vernon read, "…is Sherri Valance."

More applause and cheering. Cherry smiled, graciously accepting her crown and getting her picture taken with Randy. Ella, Cathy, and Bridget let out relieved sighs – but perhaps they should have waited because as Cherry and Randy went down to the dance floor to share the traditional dance, Vickie – a fuming, scorned Vickie Harper, stomped up to Principal Vernon and demanded, "Check that again."

Vernon looked confused and looked back down at the slip of paper as Dallas and Two-Bit shared a smile at the back of the gym. "It says Randy Adderson and Sherri Valance," he repeated. "See for yourself."

Vickie snatched the piece of paper from him, not caring if she was making a spectacle of herself. But there it was, there were their names, not hers and George's. And oh, she was _pissed._ She saw Winston and Mathews smirking at her from the back of the auditorium, and that's all the proof she needed. "Those two rigged it," she accused, pointing at the two hoods. Vernon's eyes followed her red-colored claw. "They must have!"

"Miss Harper," Principal Vernon sighed, "you have no proof of that."

"Look at them! Don't they look guilty?"

All Vernon could say was that they looked glad she hadn't won, something he might have agreed with if her losing hadn't been clearly worse. "Miss Harper, there's nothing to do now. I'm sorry."

So Vickie, fuming, waltzed right back up to the microphone and plastered a smile on her face, whipping around before she spoke and snarling at Bridget through grit teeth, " _Watch this_." And Bridget gagged.

"Here comes the contingency plan," Two-Bit muttered to Dallas, and Dallas just rolled his eyes.

"Ropers! Don't forget – there's little party favors sitting by each of the punch bowls for all of you tonight. A little somethin' to keep the spirit of homecoming going for a long time, all thanks to my fellow nominee, Miss Evelyn Martin!"

Vickie waved her arm towards Evie, and the room buzzed as their peers beelined for the punch bowls to get a look. The lights went down suddenly on the stage, and Bridget pounced on Vickie. "What did you _do?"_ She asked, feeling befuddled.

"Bridget…" Jerry started, trying to keep any more trouble, but Bridget waved him off. Vickie smirked.

"What had to be done – I let the entire student body know that your little _friend_ is nothing more than a whore."

"You can't do that!"

Vickie whipped around. Cathy and Ella were standing on the stage steps. Perfect! Little Miss Ditz and Flower Power to the rescue, though there wasn't much they could now for poor Evelyn. The damage was already done, and that was where Vickie's victory lay. That Catherine Carlson had some nerve, thinking she could sit with them at lunch and then date the boy who murdered Bob Sheldon. And Ella, who was she to be dating Craig Bryant? What was _happening_ to the world?

"Oh really?" Vickie stepped forward. "Well, as it just so happens, I already did."

And she really did. Evie had wandered off the stage, trying to find Steve, trying to figure out what exactly Vickie had done, and as she wandered, saw people giggling and gasping at several copies of the same photo. She found one on the floor and picked it up, and discovered they were all copies of the same photo of _her_ ; not just of her, either, but of her and Steve, with the word " _WHORE_ " written on it in scarlet red. For the first time in this whole ordeal, she felt her eyes start to sting, and she ran for the bathroom.

Bridget, meanwhile, was simultaneously quietly fuming and swallowing back bile. Her friend (was she her friend? And if she was, how could she be friends with someone who would do something like this?) was standing there looking both pleased and stunned. There was no turning back now, was there? Oh, why hadn't Bridget stopped this from the start? _God_ , she _definitely_ prayed this time, _if you've got your ears on, I could really use some divine intervention. A small miracle. Or maybe just a little guidance? Maybe? For once?_

"Vickie, you can't do this!" Bridget hissed after she'd shown them what she'd done. "It's…it's…it's deplorable!"

"You know what's really deplorable?" Vickie seethed. "You, leaving your friends – who have your wellbeing in mind, ya know – behind! And then ditching them for what? A whore and two airheads? Not really moving up in the world, are you?"

"I didn't ditch you!" Bridget cried, very close to tears. "Any of you! I was just trying to be _nice!"_

Cathy didn't quite know how to feel about that, whether or not she should take it as some sort of dismissal, but she didn't really have time to dwell on that right now. "You can't do this, Harper," she spat. Vickie turned on her.

"It's already done," she said, and even repeated it. "It's already done. If I had to lose, so did she."

Vickie stomped off, and Bridget, Cathy, and Ella shared defeated looks. "We should go find Evie," Ella said quietly, and the other girls nodded, turning on their heels to go look for Evie. They didn't have to look too hard because they found her in the girl's bathroom smoking a cigarette; not crying, but looking pretty dejected. The four of them had lucked out – it was just them in there, and they each hoped that it would stay that way.

"Hi, Evie," Cathy breathed, and Evie gave them a little wave and smirk.

"Hey," she said back. "Come to watch me lick my wounds?"

Bridget sighed. "Evie, I'm so sorry about tonight. I…I didn't know she was going to do that."

"I know," Evie sighed, blowing smoke. "Classy of her, wasn't it? Doubt anyone'll ever pin it to her, though. We have no proof, and it ain't worth the effort. 'Sides – if she hasn't turned on you yet, Stevens, she sure will if you get her sent down to Vernon's office."

"I don't care," Bridget said, but she knew she sorta did. "Oh _, god_ , what do we do now?"

Silence. Oh, god, was this really it? "Look – it's better than if I had actually won, okay? Trust me, this isn't the first time I've been called a whore."

"But you're just going to let her get away with this stunt?" Ella spoke up. "Evie, she's been so cruel to you!"

"I know!" Evie spat. "I know. But I'm used to this, okay? I'm used to it. Vickie will get what's comin' to her, just you wait and see."

"What's that s'posed to mean?" Cathy asked, and Evie sighed.

"I don't know. But hopefully, karma will kick 'er in the teeth." She glanced at Bridget, who was looking paler than usual. "You okay there, Stevens?"

Bridget shook her head. It took her a minute to get the nerve to speak again because she was worried if she did…well. Yeah. "This is all my fault." It felt good to finally say that to Evie. "If I'd never made fun of you, this never would have happened." Wait – nevermind. It was gonna happen. But before it did: "I'm sorry, Evie. I'm really, _really_ sorry," she sobbed out, then ran into a stall and got sick.

Evie looked at Ella and Cathy, who were glued to the floor. She smiled at them, trying to alleviate the awkwardness. "You're both pretty brave, ya know," she said. "Really."

"We are?" Cathy asked, and Evie nodded, walking over to them and snubbing out her cigarette.

"You are," she nodded. "And…and Stevens is, too. You tried to stand up to Vickie Harper, and lived to tell the tale. Pretty tuff. Trust me, ladies – one'a these days, she'll get hers."

Bridget came out of the stall. Her new friends stared at her. All she did was go over to the sink and said, "Yes. Yes – someday, something is going to jump up and bite her in the ass, and she won't be seeing it coming."

"Damn straight," Evie muttered.

"As long as you let us help," Cathy added, Ella nodding along.

Outside, in the gym, sitting on the stage steps, Vickie Harper sat, wondering what the hell sort of demon was possessing her.

XXXXX

When all was said and done, Dallas and Two-Bit stood outside the gym doors, passing Dallas's last cigarette back and forth and doggedly trying to avoid talking about what had just happened. Neither of them was exactly sure how this sort of offense would be punished, but then again, there was no solid proof that either of them had done anything except deliver the results. And after what had happened last month, Two-Bit figured that Cherry and Randy were better winners than Vickie and George. In fact, he was one-hundred percent sure of that.

"Two-Bit?"

Bridget, decked out in baby pink and tulle, was making her way towards the duo. Dallas shot his buddy a look; Two-Bit could only shrug. Dallas could only hope that this girl, this buzzing Bee, wasn't about to get them in more hot water; he couldn't afford it. He really fuckin' couldn't. Two-Bit sighed and passed the cigarette back to Dallas, silently telling him it was his, and met the girl halfway.

"What's up, kid?"

"Um." Bridget bit her lip, and Two-Bit figured out pretty quickly that he was gonna have to be the one to keep this conversation rolling.

"Where's yer boyfriend?" He asked. Bridget looked over her shoulder.

"Oh. Uh – damage control," she laughed shakily. She wiped something from the corner of her both, something that had dried there, and Two-Bit – who had plenty of experience with hangovers – had a sneaking suspicion of what that something was. "I'm gonna meet him at his car here in a few minutes."

"Well, what're you doin' here?"

She swallowed roughly. "Oh…oh, well, I just…I wanted to thank you." Bridget had said the last bit all rushed, and Two-Bit raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah? What for?"

Bridget's eyes bore into his and she whispered, "You know what for."

XXXXX

Evie woke up with a bad taste in her mouth, like she was hungover or something, but she wasn't. Well, not from drinking, anyways. No, as she rolled over onto her back and felt the autumn sunlight streaming through her windows, she remembered last night. She remembered every _bit_ of last night. She remembered that yes, it was a shitshow, but also kinda…spectacular?

Nobody really won, and nobody really lost.

Well – yes, Cherry and Randy had won homecoming queen and king, but…semantics.

Semantics.

"That sure was a mess, wasn't it?" Beth asked her at the breakfast table. "Cherry seems nice, though."

Evie thought about how Steve had told her that last month when the boys were missing and Johnny Cade had died, Cherry had done some spying and gotten some intel for them about that big rumble they'd had. Maybe Cherry wasn't so bad, Evie really couldn't say for sure, but better her than Vickie (or herself).

"Yeah," Evie shrugged. "You doin' anything for Halloween tonight?"

Beth's eyes lit up and she nodded with excitement. "I got invited to a party!"

"A Halloween party?"

Beth nodded in the affirmative. "Yep. It's not…well, it's not boy-girl, but Cindy has a lot of nice friends, and I guess I'm one of them because we're going to dress up and hang out." Her sister shrugged happily. "Doesn't that sound fun?"

Evie thought back to what she was doing on Halloween night her freshman year, and internally cringed; it wasn't anything good, that was for sure, and it was _definitely_ a boy-girl party. Evie wasn't exactly a bad girl, but Evie at fourteen was _way_ different than Beth at fourteen. "Sounds great."

"Do you have any plans?"

Evie froze up a bit. "Um. No, I…well, I just don't really feel like goin' out."

Beth understood. She understood completely. If what had happened to Evie last night had happened to her, she wouldn't want to be seen by anybody for a while, either. "That's cool. I bet there are some horror flicks on TV tonight."

Well, didn't that sound _dandy_.

Beth and their mother went out to put some things together last-minute for Beth's costume, and Evie sat around watching soaps on the television for a while, trying not to think about last night but failing spectacularly. It really had been a mess, and the more she thought about it, the more she dreaded having to go back to school tomorrow, because there was for _sure_ going to be some sort of fallout. Maybe she could fake sick. Or dead.

"Got plans tonight?"

Evie looked over and saw her father. "No," she said simply.

"Really?"

"Really."

Which suddenly struck her as being lame as hell. What was she going to do – pass out candy? That was always a boring job. What followed was a string of fast-paced thoughts that somehow led her to think about her job at the hospital – there were always a rash of incidents on Halloween night. She wasn't working tonight or anything, but she looked at the clock and realized there was _plenty_ of time left in visitation hours.

Now, Evie wasn't the smartest person at Will Rogers High School, but she sure wasn't the dumbest, so arranging for all of her new friends to meet at Tulsa General at one on Halloween wasn't really a struggle for her. "Because I was thinkin', ya know, and there are people out there who have it a lot worse than we do," she'd said over the phone to each of them.

" _Guess so,_ " Ella had said, sounding confused.

" _Well, you're not wrong_ ," Cathy had sighed.

" _What're you getting at?_ " Bridget had asked.

"I just think we should do somethin' nice, ya know?"

The question all of them had asked was, " _What're you thinking of?_ " None of them asked why, but Evie would have been able to tell them. Because there were more important things than homecoming and hair and makeup and who was friends with who. Far more important things, and people who would give anything to feel just a bit normal.

Evie hated learning lessons sometimes, she really sorta did, but this one didn't feel so bad.

So she told Cathy to bring some flowers, told them to wash themselves from the gunk of last night, and meet her at one in the lobby of the maternity ward. That had solicited several questions, but once Evie had explained, all four of them were quick to accept. Not one of them was late, and Evie was greeted with the sight of three young women who just last night had fought for her tooth and nail, and they'd all only known each other a few weeks.

"Follow me," Evie said in lieu of greeting, and they did, eventually stopping in front of a closed white door.

Evie looked back at the three girls behind her, took just a moment to soak all this in. Cathy was carrying the bouquet of roses, grey eyes bright as she bit back a smile. Ella studied the door with an intense focus, Evie noting that the ringlets she'd done for her for the dance were now nicely pulled back off her face. And Bridget, dressed to the nines (for a hospital visit, at least – because who was she, Jackie Kennedy?), winked at her cohort with a small grin. Evie gave her a broader smile in return.

"Ready?"

"Ready," Ella said, no hesitation, and the two other girls nodded. Evie gave them the thumbs-up and pushed open the door.

"Lynette? Ya have some visitors…"

XXXXX

 **AN: Apologies for being a bit late on this! But thank you all for your patience and for sticking with us and this story – it means the world to all of us. :)**


	20. Eternal

" _Now there are some things we all know, but we don't take'm out and look at'm very often. We all know that something is eternal. And it ain't houses and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and it ain't even the stars… everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you'd be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There's something way down deep that's eternal about every human being."_ \- Thornton Wilder, _Our Town_

Cathy didn't know what to expect when Evie opened the door. She hugged the bouquet of roses close to her chest and for a moment she felt like she was playing _Mystery Date_ , wondering who was behind door number 2. Evie had told the girls that she had a friend she wanted them to meet, someone who was going through something way worse than anything they had gone through this week.

"She'll love the company," Evie said confidently when Cathy worried about invading this girl's privacy. Despite Evie's assurance Cathy wasn't so sure.

Cathy had worked at the hospital for a few months and while she knew exactly how each of the E.R. doctors on her shift preferred their coffee (black, with cream, extra sugar, no sugar but triple cream, black-except on Friday evenings and then with a pinch of sugar, whiskey); her job never gave her much chance to actually meet any patients.

Evie's job was different, as a gift store employee she had direct interaction with the patients and their families, she delivered the flowers and gifts to each patient until they were either discharged from the hospital-or not.

She wondered if any of Evie's patients had passed away. What was that like? What would it be like to visit someone, if only for 2 minutes a day to drop off a bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots, and then slowly over the course of those 2 minute visits you begin to learn snippets of their life, you find out that his wife was from Altoona and that he served in Pershing's Army and that he has ten grandchildren. Then one day you press the elevator button to the third floor, just to say 'hello' before your shift begins and you see the orderlies preparing fresh bedding and linens and the whole process starts all over again.

But if it was hard for Evie, she never said anything about it.

The girl who sat up in her bed was named Lynette. She was an ordinary looking girl, one who could easily fit in blindly in the halls of Will Rogers, except of course for her condition.

It was Bridget who made the first move. Her hand outstretched she greeted Lynette with a warm 'hello.'

"I'm Bridget Stevens, and this is Ella Mitchell and Cathy Carlson and of course you know Evie." If Bridget felt shy, she sure didn't show it, Cathy thought admirably. Lynette's shoulders relaxed and she stuck her own hand out. "Nice to meet y'all."

Cathy was impressed with how much at ease Bridget made Lynette. It was more than just being polite, it was Bridget's natural personality, she was warm and gregarious.

Cathy looked around for a vase, "do you mind if I put these in your room?"

Lynette nodded, "Aww, those are gorgeous! I've never received flowers." She seemed genuinely appreciative and Cathy in that moment felt extremely protective of Lynette. It was strange, she knew the girl for less than thirty seconds yet she already wanted to make sure Lynette was okay. Just as she wanted to make sure Ella, Bridget and Evie were okay as well; for as much as she made jokes about being the oldest of seven she had a genuine maternal instinct.

"So, how was Homecoming?" Lynette asked with a grin. All at once Evie, Cathy, Bridget and Ella's eyes met, four sets of eyes: brown, grey, green and blue, all with different ways of looking at the world yet all bonded by their experience.

There was a slight tension in the air. Cathy still couldn't believe what Vickie had done, or tried to do to Evie, if it was her she would have to transfer to a new school, that was all. But Evie was a lot stronger than anyone gave her credit for. Cathy looked at Evie with new eyes it wasn't just the whole Vickie fiasco, it was that Evie's first thought after own humiliation was not to drown in self-pity, as much as she might have wanted to, but to reach out to another person who needed good friends even more than she did.

Cathy knew Evie was brave, but she now she realized just how big the girl's heart really was.

It was Evie who broke the tension by laughing, "it was a crazy night, I'll tell ya all about it later." Lynette looked at her with a raised eyebrow. But the other three girls could do was laugh, yup 'crazy night' that seemed to say it all.

XXXXX

Cathy paced her bedroom like a woman on a mission, or at least like a girl on her way to getting an 'incomplete' in art class. With all the hubbub over Homecoming she hadn't had the time to devote to her art project and every time she tried to sit down and work on it she was either interrupted by one of the younger children or she just couldn't think of what to draw to represent Ella. She must have started and stopped about a six different paintings, none of them good enough.

I'd rather she just have us draw hands, Cathy thought with rolled eyes as she stared down at her smudged fingers. The project was due tomorrow and Cathy the overachieving perfectionist had nothing done.

It was funny when she first got the assignment she thought would be a piece of cake, she looked at Ella with her wild, bushy hair and immediately thought of a bush or a Weeping Willow. But now that she actually got to know Ella she wanted to create an art project that would truly reflect her friend.

With a sigh she sat on her bed, her hair flowing around her like a wild black river and tried to think.

Flowers. That was it. She could draw Ella as a flower. It seemed that every other girl in their class was being drawn as a flower. One girl named Rose was being draw, predictably enough, as a rose. Cathy didn't want to do what everyone else was doing, she wanted to do something special. Besides, she thought with a smirk on her lips, after Georgia O'Keeffe she would never look at flowers the same way again.

M&M knocked on the door. Cathy knew it was M&M because he was the only one of her siblings who remembered to knock.

"Come on in," Cathy sat up on her bed. M&M always had good ideas, maybe he would help her with this project.

The two Carlson siblings sat side by side on her bed, trying to figure out what to draw for the art project.

"I'm sure you'll get an 'A'" M&M told Cathy with a serious expression, "you always get As."

Cathy shook her head, "it's not about the grade; I really want to make something nice for Ella. She's a special person." Not about the grade, dear God, did those words really come from her mouth?

"She's reading _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ , right?" Cathy scrunched up her shoulders, she wasn't quite sure.

"Um, I think so. How do you know that?"

M&M shrugged, "we talked about it at work, I told her I read it when I was eight, and that if she needed any help with it, I'd be happy to give her a hand."

Cathy winced to herself, M&M was a sweet kid and she knew he wasn't trying to sound full of himself when he told Ella that he read the book back in the third grade, but sometimes her brother didn't always think of how he came across. Come to think of it, the occasionally blunt girl thought to herself, it was a trait she and her brother shared.

"You were in third grade when you read it?" M&M had always been a prodigious reader.

"Nope, second, right after my birthday," he said evenly. "Well anyway, in the book there's this Tree of Heaven that's the symbol of the entire book, this symbol of survival and going on no matter what."

Cathy jolted up, yes this was exactly it! This what she would draw Ella as, The Tree of Heaven, graceful and strong.

"What does the Tree of Heaven look like?"

M&M scratched his head, "it's Latin name is Ailanthus altissima, it's a deciduous tree." Cathy had no idea what a deciduous tree was, but she nodded. M&M went on, "it's also known as the stink tre…"

"Edwin!" Cathy gave her brother a light slap across the arm, "I can't draw my friend as a stink tree! Oh my God!" She began to laugh and M&M only smiled slightly, his eyes as serious as ever,"it's still a nice tree."

XXXXX

Dallas Winston was up first. Cathy felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

"If he humiliates her, I'll kill him," Cathy whispered to Ella.

Ella shook her head, "he won't."

Cathy still didn't like Dallas Winston at all, and she certainly wasn't going to pretend that she did, but she also knew what he had done for Evie and if she was honest with herself, she would admit that in the tiniest of ways her impression of the rough, towheaded teen had changed for better.

If the art teacher was nervous, she didn't show it. "You're up Mr. Winston," she proclaimed in a cheery voice as she pointed to the front of the room.

"I'll stay sitting," Dally said with annoyance and Cathy rolled her eyes. Evie's friend or not, he was still rude as anyone Cathy ever met.

"I drew you as a sun Mrs. G, cause you are my sunshine, my only sunshine." Dally said with a smirk.

Some of the kids let out muffled laughs.

But the teacher only smile, "I had no idea you were a Governor Davis fan, Mr. Winston." Dally's upper lip scrunched up, "huh?"

He then revealed his painting. To Cathy's great relief it was nothing offensive, it was just an orange circle. It was clear that Dally hadn't spent more than two minutes on the project, but he didn't humiliate her.

"I'm relieved and a bit surprised," Cathy leaned over and confessed to her friend.

"He can be decent, when he wants to be," Ella said with a new found confidence.

Cathy chewed on Ella's words. Dally was rude, had a bad attitude, could even be a bit of a bully, but unlike Vickie Harper he wasn't deliberately cruel. If she didn't know them, if she saw Vickie and Dallas walking in the hallway and she was asked who would be more likely to play a cruel trick at Homecoming, she would have guessed Dallas, and she would have been wrong.

"He can be nice, sometimes," Ella continued.

Something in Ella's tone caused Cathy to raise an eyebrow at her. _Ella and Dallas?_

 _Holy…_

XXXXX

Cathy was nervous when Ella stood up to speak. She knew that Ella was shy and speaking in front of the entire class did not come easily for her, but she was also nervous about what Ella would say. Cathy was so use to analyzing and watching everyone else, she hadn't really thought of how she might come across.

Gosh how she wished she could take a smoke from her purse and just start puffing away. She was going to quit, she told herself, it was a nasty habit, but it was times like these that she really could use one.

As Ella walked up to the front of the room, Cathy's stomach churned, she tried to think if she did anything to offend Ella, if she made her mad in anyway. That's ridiculous, Cathy scolded herself, Ella was a friend, and she wasn't going to hurt Cathy. She trusted Ella.

"For my project I painted my friend Cathy." Ella looked at Cathy and smiled. Cathy smiled back and sat back in her chair, interested, but no longer anxious, in what her friend would have to say.

"I see Cathy as a nurturing person, she's calm, so I painted her as a rising wave over a calm sea, but she's also not afraid to stand up for what's right, she has a strong side, which is where the lightning bolt comes in." Then Ella looked directly at Cathy, "I admire her very much."

Her shaky stomach felt at rest.

Cathy felt a lot calmer than she did earlier in the day. Standing in front of the class, she revealed her picture. She drew a river, deep and blue, linking three islands covered with trees, plants and animals. Through the reflection of the river, the branches of the trees met each other.

Ella's painting was a lot better, Cathy thought dejectedly and for a minute she wished she could spend just ten minutes to add more details to the painting. But she had to go on. Even though she was scared, she knew she could handle it, and if she did mess up, if she get a, B or even lower, well, she would deal with it. She could handle it. She remembered Evie's words from earlier, she was brave.

It wasn't the same as facing an entire crowd of hostile teenagers, but Cathy promised herself she would handle whatever happened today with the same courage Evie showed at the dance. With a deep sigh, she collected her thoughts and began to speak.

"For my project I painted Ella Mitchell, over the course of the semester I got to know her and I now consider to be a good friend. This semester I got to meet three girls I probably would not have met otherwise. We didn't have a lot in common, and I guess some would say that we still don't. But even so, we became friends, and the reason I think we became friends is because of Ella. I painted Ella as a river, strong and steady, but deep and reflective. In this painting the river unites the disparate islands, forming one complete landscape. Without the river the islands would be left adrift. I drew the islands with a lot of flora and fauna and it's the islands that first capture your attention, but without the river the islands wouldn't exist, neither would the animals or plants. The river is quiet, unobtrusive, but the strongest force of all."

XXXXX

"I like Cathy, you two are great together." Ponyboy Curtis blinked. He wasn't surprised that Soda liked Cathy, Soda liked everyone, but Darry? Even though he and Darry were getting along better Pony was sure that his brother would disapprove of Cathy in some way.

"Yeah, thanks," Pony smiled at his older brother. He liked Cathy he really did. On paper, she was perfect. What did he write in his essay, that he didn't want to end up with a scatterbrained broad? Well, Cathy was the complete opposite of a scatterbrained broad, she was smart, had her head screwed on straight, was nice, dressed decent.

Now wonder Darry thought she made a good girlfriend for his brother, she was a less temperamental version of himself.

Yet as much as Pony liked her, she intimidated him. He didn't like to admit it, it made him feel weak and small inside, and hell, he certainly wouldn't tell the guys or maybe even Darry about his feelings. It was odd, Cathy was only a year older than he was, but in a way she acted a lot older.

If he was honest with himself, deep down he wondered what she saw in him. He was a quiet, almost shy guy, who thanks to Bob's death and the events that followed, had a rep for ill and good, depending on who you talked to and what story you believed. Pony gingerly touched the spot where George Clayton punched his face. He wondered if things would ever return to normal for him.

What did Cathy see in him? Did she see the tough hood who hung out with Curly Shepard and Dallas Winston? Or did she see the local boy who saved those children from the fire? Did she see him as the dreamer, like Cherry Valance did? Or maybe she just saw a teenager like her, trying his best to navigate a treacherous confusing road to adulthood, just like she was.

Pony stood up and glanced out the window, the sun was about to set. He wondered if Cathy could see the same sun from the hospital snack shop. Suddenly, he had an idea.

"Hey Darry, since it ain't a school night, I'm gonna visit Cathy, I think she might like the company."

Maybe, they would look at the sunset together.

XXXXX

When Bridget got a note in second period that simply read, _What's the story, morning glory?_ , she knew immediately who it was from, and with a sneaking glance at both her friend Missy next to her and Mr. James lecturing at the front of the classroom, she wrote beneath Two-Bit's message, _What's the tale, nightingale?_ and passed it right back.

 _Have you heard about Hugo and Kim?_

 _What do you want?_

 _Oh, FINE. Meet me at the usual place at seven, Ann-Margret._

Ah, yes – the usual place. The steps of the school. Meeting up with Two-Bit always felt so taboo, so…so _naughty_ , almost. Just the thought of it as she did her homework after school was enough to make her blush. She and Jerry had gotten through homecoming unscathed – as a couple, at least – but the whole ordeal had only made Bridget more curious, and want Two-Bit more, even if that wasn't the right thing to do.

Speaking of the right thing:

Another thought came to mind as she put the finishing touches on her's and Lucy's English project. Vickie hadn't made contact with anybody after the dance, not the entire weekend. Nobody heard a word. Bridget, Missy, Cherry, Marcia, and Penny held a crisis meeting at Marcia's house, attempting to get Vickie to pick up her phone, but no luck. And she didn't show up to any Halloween parties – at least, not the one Bridget had gone to (dressed as a cowgirl, which everyone got a hoot out of seeing the city slicker in that get-up, thanks very much). That, it seemed, was that, then. Until Monday morning, this morning, when Bridget shut her locker to see Vickie waiting for her…

 _Bridget jumped. "Vickie! You scared me," she added gently._

" _We need to talk."_

 _The shorter, smaller, meeker girl knew exactly what her maybe-friend was getting at. "I think you're right."_

 _Vickie bit back a snarl. "I don't know what came over me. Look, Bridget – I'm just trying to look out for you. You've built yourself a good reputation here. Girls like Ella and Catherine…they're…fine," Vickie lied for her friend's benefit, "but Evie? She gets herself into some pretty scary situations, and I don't want anything to happen to you," she finished gently._

 _Bridget didn't know what to make of this. Maybe Evie did get herself into scary situations – maybe Bridget could do with a little scaring. "Well, you still didn't have to do what you did."_

 _Vickie wilted a bit. "You're right," she admitted. "Just because I think the two of you shouldn't be friends – the four of you, really – doesn't mean that I should have let it bleed over into the evening. It was wrong of me, and I'm sorry."_

 _What was this? Vickie Harper, apologizing? Bridget was almost too shocked to respond. "Well, yeah…"_

" _I hope you can forgive me," Vickie continued. Because what she had done on Saturday really had scared the blonde a little bit. She did believe Evie Martin was a whore and Ella and Cathy were a couple of dopes, but sometimes…well, sometimes she just lost control of herself. She really should've kept this to a smaller scale. "I might not like with them" (understatement) "but it was still wrong."_

Bridget sighed. Of course, she'd forgiven Vickie. She had such a grip on her, which she hoped to break from someday. Perhaps it had been a moment of weakness. The whole weekend had left her feeling pretty drained, really; first with the excitement of Evie's salon, meeting some so-called "rough" girls like Angela Shepard, and then the dance itself. All of it had culminated in her getting sick in the girls' restroom the night of the dance, which was embarrassing even if Evie, Ella, and Cathy were the only ones who knew. She'd carried a sick feeling with her all weekend, and probably shouldn't have gone to that party or to see Lynnette…but Evie had insisted.

That was the one bright spot in all of this, meeting Lynnette. She really did have it rough, just like Evie had said. As the bus let her off and Bridget walked to the back of the school, she made a mental note to bring her some chrysanthemums, or something seasonal, and pay her a visit. Maybe they could do nails, or something.

As promised, Bridget found Two-Bit lounging on the concrete steps, like some cool cat, smoking a cigarette. He didn't have any pomade in his hair, which she found a bit odd, but she liked it. "Hi, Two-Bit."

He looked up and smiled at her as she walked over to him. "Howdy, Bee. Glad you could make it."

Bridget stopped just short of the steps and smirked, putting her arms a bit out to the side as if to say _What'd ya expect?_ "Don't I always?"

He nodded. "Ya do," he allowed. "Wanna sit? Ya look a little peaked."

"I'm fine," she mumbled. Just the simple act of talking was enough to drain her. It took too much energy. Getting through this weekend hadn't helped her to feel as good as she thought it would. "Well, better, at least."

"That's good. Yeah, I'd noticed the uh…" He gestured to the edge of his mouth, underneath the right corner. "On Saturday night, when we talked, you had a bit dried there."

Bridget blushed and her eyes went wide. "I did?" She squeaked.

Two-Bit chuckled. "Aw, Bee – trust me, I've seen women in worse ways. And believe me, I've been hungover enough times in my life to know what dried-up puke looks like." Oh, but his voice was smooth. Even when he was talking about vomit. The sound of it sent a shiver down Bridget's spine. He noticed. "Y'okay?"

"Cold," she sort-of lied. It was a lie in that it wasn't the cause, but it was true all the same. Winter was starting to bear down on them, and it wouldn't be long before the holidays came, and with it break. Bridget held her arms closer to her chest. Two-Bit frowned, and – being the gentleman that he sometimes was – took off his jacket and held it out to her.

"If you'd like," he said, remembering the last time he'd offered his jacket to her and she snapped at him. It still smelled a bit like she did: the powdery, talcum-sweet scent of Pond's; White Shoulders perfume; a bit like homemade bread. In short, she smelled fucking wonderful. She'd refused at first last time, but this time she wordlessly accepted and shrugged into it.

"Thanks," she said, finally sitting beside him.

"Welcome. So."

"So."

"About the dance…"

"Yeah," Bridget sighed. "That was a mess. But really – thank you, for what you and Dallas did. Who would have won, by the way?"

Two-Bit took another drag off his cigarette and seriously considered not telling her. Because it had surprised him and Dallas good. "Well," he drawled. "There was a _tie._ "

Bridget sputtered. "A-a-uh-a _tie?_ " She repeated. "What – ?"

"I _know_ ," Two-Bit sighed. "Between Vickie and Evie. Seems Miz Harper didn't do her math right," he winked.

"Or Evie got the votes on her own," Bridget whispered solemnly.

"Or both! But shoot, kid, it worked out."

"Sorta," Bridget grumbled. "Did your friend Ponyboy have a good time, at least?"

Two-Bit snorted. "Guess so. He said he did, but he was a bit baffled when his date disappeared for a little bit there…" He slid his eyes over to Bridget. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would ya?"

Bridget blushed again. "I might," she whispered. "Cathy's a good friend – she stuck up for Evie to the end. And I think she always will."

Two-Bit hummed lowly. "That's good. She ain't a thing like Pony, from what I can tell."

Bridget smirked. Two-Bit was such a male; from what she could tell, Ponyboy and Cathy _did_ have things in common. But…"It won't last."

"Not at all."

Bridget slid her eyes over to Two-Bit and tried to hold back a big grin. "He's too thin."

Without missing a beat, "She's too tall."

Bridget couldn't help but giggle. "So, what, are you secretly some big _Bye-Bye, Birdie_ fan?"

She laughed harder at Two-Bit's expression. "Nope! Kathy dragged me to see it a couple years ago – she's into that girly musical shit like you are."

Bridget's laughter wound down. "You should tell me about this Kathy of yours sometime."

" _Fuck_ no. We ain't even really together anymore. Hey, you need a ride?"

Bridget felt like he was being too kind. And that's what it was – he _was_ being kind. Really, he'd been nothing but kind to her for the longest time. Ever since that incident in class with Jimmy Hopper. Sure, there was some ribbing still, but…well, things had been different for a long time now. And she suspected they would continue to become more and more different. And if they kept going on this trajectory…well, she could only imagine (could only _hope_ ) where they would end up. But Bridget imagined that wherever they ended up, they'd be together, somehow.

"You really don't have to. I'm sure you have places to be."

Two-Bit looked at her funny, but he was smiling. "Not really. I don't mind, peach. C'mon, lemme give you a lift. Won't be good for ya to walk home in this weather, you'll just get sick again."

The problem with Two-Bit, Bridget realized, was that he was always genuinely concerned. Even thought it had just been nerves (and disgust with herself), other boys wouldn't have – and historically haven't – looked out for her wellbeing, and Two-Bit seemed to be doing a better job of it than Bridget herself. Any other boy would have sounded so _fake_ making the same offer, but Two-Bit never did. No, he never did. He looked at her with the kindest of eyes and asked to make sure she was alright, and probably in more ways than one.

She could fall in love with a boy like him.

But that didn't mean that she still didn't need to keep up appearances.

"Just this once," Bridget allowed. "But I can't keep imposing on you like this."

When Two-Bit helped her up into the cab of his truck, before shutting her door, he smiled at her – not the hundred-watt grin, but a real one all the same – and said, "Darlin', you could never be an imposition." He sure did have a way with words. But they let Bob Dylan do the talking on the way home, crooning on about tambourine men and rolling stones.

XXXXX

"Alright – here it is."

Bridget thrust her (and Lucy's, she supposed) paper in Lucy's face, who just smiled benignly and took it from Bridget's hands. She looked it over as if she were some big-time persnickety editor who had the gall to think she had any sort of say in what the paper said even after doing nothing, not even bothering to _read her own book_. Bridget had felt pretty heated about the whole thing, and the whole ordeal reminded her why she didn't exactly like working with partners or groups; nobody ever did the work, and used her benevolent and timid nature to their advantage and made her do all the work. And you'd think that since she could recognize the problem she'd be able to do something about it, but…no.

"Looks great! Thanks so much, Bee, I know I was sorta a lousy partner, but you know how my math grade was…"

There were three things wrong with that statement: Lucy didn't look at it long enough to even _know_ what the paper said, she hadn't said a _thing_ about a lousy math grade, and where the hell did she get off calling her _Bee?_ Goodness gracious. Instead of saying all that, though, she just coldly said, "Why don't you go put it in the tray?" and left it at that.

A few rows over, Evie and Ella were going over their report one final time, making sure there wasn't a comma or integral detail out of place. Well-manicured fingers traced underneath lines of a poetic essay that compared two female characters that represented the strength of the so-called gentler sex. Hester and Franny would be proud.

"Think it's good?" Ella asked, and Evie nodded.

"I think it is," she said confidently. But both girls thought quietly to themselves that the grade on this silly project didn't matter – what was important was that the stupid thing had brought them together and made them friends.

"Alright, class," Miss Tracy started right away as the bell rang and she waltzed into the room, "if your paper isn't already in the tray, go ahead and get it in." And then a swarm of kids got out of their seats and shuffled through the line to submit their papers, and then shuffled back to their seats, giving their partners those smiles that said _Well, nothing left to do for it now!_

"Wonderful, thank you for getting those in," Miss Tracy grinned, and Evie watched her with a critical eye. She didn't look like some scheming ho-bag; she looked _normal_. She looked like a perfectly normal teacher who _probably_ wouldn't sneakily call out one of her students. Right? "I'll get those graded as soon as possible. I hope you enjoyed the books you each got to read. I tried to give you each something I thought would resonate."

Nevermind.

"The next book we'll be reading as a class is Thornton Wilder's play _Our Town_ , and I thought it might be fun to read it aloud, since it's a play…."

Evie ended up tuning her out. How could Miss Tracy expect her to care about _Our Town_ when it had become abundantly clear (in Evie's mind) that her own English teacher was out to get her? Well, she wouldn't let her get away with _that_ , no _ma'am_. When the bell rang to end class, Bridget bolted out of there as fast as she could, but Evie hung back. Ella gave her a strange look.

"Are you coming?" She asked, clutching her books to her chest. Evie waved her off.

"I have a question. See ya later, Ella."

Ella could only hope she would, so she gave Evie a little wave and left. Evie waited for everyone to leave the classroom before she approached Miss Tracy's desk, _The Scarlet Letter_ in hand, and feeling emboldened. Miss Tracy was sitting behind her desk doing teacher stuff when Evie slammed the book on her desk and made her look up.

"Evelyn - ?"

"Why did you give me this book?" Evie asked bluntly.

Miss Tracy looked confused, which Evie thought was just _rich_. There was no point in her playing around like this; she had assigned her that book because she thought she was a whore – Evie just wanted to hear her say it. "Did you not like it?"

Evie huffed. "That's got nothin' to do with it – "

"With what?"

Evie rolled her eyes. "The book is _fine_ ," she clarified. "It's…fine. But why did you have me read it?"

Miss Tracy had never had a student speak to her in this way before; however, she was sort of glad that Evelyn was. Maybe the book had done its job. "Well, I just thought – "

"Did you?" Evie asked, her voice cracking just a bit. "Because, well, not only does the entire school think I'm a whore, but so does my teacher. And that ain't right, I don't think. I know I may not be the smartest student you have, Miss Tracy, but I thought that was pretty low."

Now Miss Tracy was really confused. She glanced down at her desk, feeling her ears burn a bit at the accusation. Though, now that she thought about it, Evie was making some sense – she could see how she was conflating the events of this past weekend with this book. Hopefully, she didn't think she had anything to do with the troubles the teacher had heard she'd gone through. But she'd never meant to make her feel this way. "Evelyn – "

"Evie," she corrected.

"Evie, I didn't assign you that book for this reason. I assigned it to you because I thought you might draw something from Hester's strength. You never really said much before, and I know you aren't exactly friends with some of the other girls in this class" – Evie swore she could hear the unspoken adjectives: the other _rich, modest, bright_ girls – "and I thought perhaps maybe you might be able to identify with her. And-and I paired you with Ella not just because both of the books' central characters being female, but because I thought perhaps that book might help her in the same way, and that the two of you could maybe…help each other?" She finished.

Evie stared dumbfounded at her teacher. So…so she hadn't assigned her that book because she thought she was some sort of slut? But that had been the only reason she could ever come up with, even if she had ended up identifying with Hester in some way. She wondered if Ella had felt the same with her book. "Oh," Evie whispered, feeling a bit embarrassed now for a different reason. "Um. I guess I didn't consider that."

Miss Tracy gave her a kind smile. "That's alright."

"So…you don't think I'm a slut?"

"No," Miss Tracy vehemently shook her head. "Not at all. Of course not! Look…all of you girls are different. It's none of my business to tell you what your style should be, but I think you would all benefit from judging each other by the contents of your character, not what the other girl is wearing. The way you dress is no better than, say, the way Bridget dresses. Neither one is right or better, just…different."

Not better, just different. Evie tucked that away in the back of her head and held onto it for when she needed it. "I s'pose," she allowed. "Bridget's a friend of mine now," she said, surprised she'd tell a teacher something like that. And that she would ever consider Bridget Stevens a friend.

"You seem friendly with each other."

"Why did you give her the book you gave her?"

Miss Tracy chuckled a bit. "That girl was in serious need of a spiritual wake-up call. She's looked scared since the first day of school, and didn't start to get better until she read that book. At least, for me."

A spiritual wake-up call. Huh. Evie was going to have to ask her about that. If only Cathy had been in here with them! They could have some sort of book club. "Well. Sorry to bother you, Miss Tracy."

"Don't be sorry. And don't be sorry about being different, Evie – we're all a little different in our own way. We just have to find the people who see that different and embrace it."

XXXXX

The locker rooms were steamy and hot, and Ella felt like her lungs might collapse from how deep her inhalations were. She had never been a fan of gym class, or anything involving sports, especially when participating involved going outside. It was a particularly humid day, and Ella was so longing for the much crisper and cooler days—it was November already, for goodness sake.

The brown-haired girl ran her fingers through her wet locks, studying her face in one of the mirrors of the girls' locker room. As she stared at herself almost critically, she remembered Cathy's painting from earlier that morning in art class, wondering how she could view herself so differently. She certainly never saw herself as someone emitting strength, but then again, what had happened during the homecoming dance, along with the events that had taken place beforehand, proved that Ella, Cathy, Bridget, and Evie all emitted some form of strength in one way or the other. Ella smiled, remembering that night and how anxious they had all been—it seemed like a lifetime ago now.

Oh, but how she wished her hair could stay the way Evie had perfected it—in beautiful ringlets. Now her hair was back to its normal chaotic, mind of its own, catastrophe—and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, but it was wet, no less. Ella sighed, reaching for her brush to pull the thick and frizzy strands out of her face when another girl—one that made Ella internally cringe—came to stand beside her at the sinks.

"Hi, Angela," she greeted, voice low and almost quivering.

The black-haired girl raised an eyebrow, glancing back at Ella through the mirror. "Ella, right?" she asked, beginning to fix her makeup coated eyes. "I remember you."

Ella nodded. "Yeah."

"Shame what that Harper bitch did to Evie, even if I don't really care for her either way," she remarked, almost sounding casual. But Ella knew better. "Harper will get what's comin' to her, though, and I hope her Soc-y ass is ready for it." A lethal smirk crept along her lips. "Ya know, our kind don't take lightly to when one of our own is fucked with, and Evie is no exception."

The older teen could only stare. "I suppose, but I think there's been enough . . . drama to last the rest of the school year."

Little Angela only chuckled. "Sure, sure. I'll bet your friend, Bridget, is already making up with her—Harper. It's how things go, you know? She might be an acquaintance of yours now, but watch. And mark my words, Ella, Bridget and her will be back to prancin' along as friends in no time. Just because y'all had some friendly project to work on for homecoming don't mean nothin', and it won't in a few weeks. Things'll go back to normal soon. You'll see."

When she walked away, Ella felt a sinking feeling in her gut. She wondered, then, what would happen after that day—when she and Evie, and she and Cathy, were no longer partners for any project—would they remain friendly? Would they go back to ignoring each other? It was a bitter feeling to have, one that Ella really didn't want to think about. But Angela had been right, or somewhat right, on one thing. Bridget and Evie would never be in the same crowd, even if they could remain courteous toward one another, and Cathy was already worldly—in some way—strong and nurturing. She was going places, Ella was sure, and she couldn't help but see her as a future teacher some day.

Still, she wondered what would happen to the four of them after this day.

Meanwhile, across the locker room, Evie was rummaging through her makeup bag for her liner, a scowl on her face as she wondered where the hell it was. She was never without her beauty supplies—call her a girlie girl or whatever, but Evie had always been prepared to look her best . . . for any event, rain or shine. Pursing her lips, Evie tossed her hands up in the air, a deep sound rumbling in the back of her throat as she silently cursed everything under the sun.

"Lookin' for this?"

Evie jerked around, brows furrowing as she glared at Sylvia. "You stole my liner?"

Sylvia shrugged, and Evie wanted to sock her right in her perfected outlined eyes. "I might've snooped around your belongings while you were showering." She held her hand out to the taller girl, a defeated expression crossing her face for a second as Evie snatched the makeup out of her hand. "Look . . . I heard about . . . what happened—"

"Don't," the brunette responded sharply. Glory, but she had gotten enough strange looks that day to last her an entire lifetime. Well, at least she and Steve were okay—even though they hadn't exactly made up just yet—which was just about the only good that had come out of the homecoming disaster dance. "It's over."

"I know," Sylvia said, and plopped down on the bench beside Evie. She rolled her eyes, looking like what she wanted to say was going to take a lot of effort for her to get out. "I'm sorry that I acted like a bitch the other week. I didn't mean to get all over your shit about the Stevens chick."

And Evie gave her a surprised look, standing up straight as she placed her hands on her hips. Sylvia had always been . . . well, stubborn, and Evie was certain that she had never—not once—heard any form of an apology from her. Still, there was a sound in her voice that let Evie know that she was actually being sincere, and judging from her pleading—and disgusted—expression, she did mean it.

The girl sighed, shoulders dropping. "Don't worry about it, Syl. I told you it's all over."

"So, we're good, then?" And, not waiting for an answer, Sylvia continued on sounding almost relieved and ecstatic, everything else forgotten. "I was wonderin' if you wanted to get together after school, you know, to hangout like old times? I think Kathy is gonna—"

"I don't think so," Evie cut in, turning to draw her liner on. "I've got other plans tonight, so I ain't gonna be around."

For a moment, Evie thought that Sylvia looked upset, but the look on her face was rapidly wiped away, replaced with the more sarcastic one that seemed to be glued to her skin. Evie didn't exactly have any plans that evening, but . . . she needed a break. She needed a break from school, projects, gossip, drama, hair, beautification . . . The list seemed to be never ending, but Evie couldn't help it. She just wasn't in the mood to celebrate anything. And there was some part of her that didn't want to go out and celebrate old times with Sylvia—not then, and certainly not any time soon. It was as if, in the weeks that past, Evie had become a different person, the things she once cared about not seeming to really to matter all that much anymore.

She figured that she was fortunate, though. She didn't have a lot, but she had enough, and she was okay with that. Of course, Sylvia was her friend, and she always would be, but she just didn't feel the same way about her or Kathy that she once did. She wondered, if only briefly, if Bridget felt the same way about Vickie Harper, or Cathy about Angela Shepard, or Ella about Dallas Winston.

Huh, perhaps they had all grown in some way, having learned from each other, having listened to each other, having _understood_ each other . . .

Perhaps each of their stories had been rewritten by being each others friend.

XXXXX

Dallas crossed his arms, running his tongue over his teeth, as he pressed his back against Ella's locker, a scowl on his face. He wasn't thrilled about seeing her, or rather, waiting for her, but he figured that they had some things to discuss. He could have waited until later that afternoon when they met up for the tutoring, but the blond wanted to get this shit over with, and quickly. His expression shifted once he spotted the brown-haired girl's frizzy mane, a smirk forming across his lips as he considered taking a jab at her hair—Jesus, but it sure could have used some TLC . . . in the form of a bushwhacker, no less.

"Hey, sweets," the towheaded teen greeted, looking down at her impishly. At Ella's bewildered and stunned countenance, he continued on arrogantly. "So, exactly how long did it take Evie to tame that hair of yours, pooch?"

Ella, for all her worth, shot him an incredulous look, eyes broad and jaw nearly dropped. But she was quick to straighten up, chin raising as she glared straight into Dallas's icy eyes. "Less time than it would take to fix any part of you, Winston." She shook her head, turning away from him to spin her combination. "A good bath would probably kill you to start."

"Feisty today, huh," he replied, stepping to the side so that she could open her locker door. "Anyways, now that this dance shit is outta the way—"

Before he could finish, Ella cut him off. "Yeah, about that. I told you that Bridget Stevens had nothing to do with what Vickie Harper was doing."

Dallas scoffed, not in the mood to hear about Buzzing Bee Stevens, but he had come to find that Ella had been right all along. He didn't particularly care for the Soc chick, but . . . she had helped Evie out in some way, so he figured that she was . . . fine. And that was it. Still, admitting to Ella that she was right, and that she had been, wasn't something he was going to do, so he ignored the girl's statement, deciding she could bask in her own excitement.

"Whatever," he bit out, and nearly cringed when she began braiding that mane of hers. "I've been hearin' a lot of shit about Evie and some picture or somethin'."

And Ella felt her heart plummet downward. "Oh, yeah. Well, Vickie had copies of a picture of Steve and Evie . . . kissing and placed them on the table. That's what her announcement was all about; she wanted to humiliate Evie in any way that she could."

The blond rolled his eyes. He remembered Two-Bit going on about Vickie having a back up plan if things didn't go her way, and he remembered the announcement from the Harper bitch, but he hadn't stuck around long enough to see exactly what the hell had happened. He had left the building, and only met up with Two-Bit a while after, until they were interrupted by Buzzing Bee Stevens.

Whatever. It didn't matter any more than chatting with Ella did—at least, to Dallas, it didn't. Things would eventually clear up, and everything would fall back into place, going back to the way it was—it always worked like that.

"That all?"

Ella nodded. "Evie will be okay, though. I know she will."

"Sure," Dallas said, and yawned, itching for a smoke. "So, about this afternoon, sweets . . ."

XXXXX

Evie and Steve hadn't done a lot of talking in the past few days, but they seemed to be fine at the dance the other night. Still, Evie wasn't sure that they were exactly okay just yet, and the growing need to speak to him was irritating her. Usually, their arguments were light and never lasted more than a day, because neither one of them could bear the thought of intentionally hurting the other. But Evie was still stubborn, and she wanted Steve to come to her.

"Eve . . ."

 _Speak of the devil!_

Evie jerked around, surprised to hear his voice, but a gloomy expression was still plastering her face, and Steve's own look of sheer hesitation caused her to freeze momentarily. She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow as she stared up at him, willing herself to not give in so easily. But damn, his eyes, _those eyes_. . . Evie deflated, no longer in the mood for this bullshit. She just wanted to forget about everything, just wanted to put the last few weeks behind her.

"Steve."

He rubbed the back of his head, pursing his lips. "Look, I didn't mean what I said the other day, ya know? I was . . . worried about ya, and . . . damn, Evie, I'm sorry, alright? I never meant to hurt ya or nothin'."

Evie shook her head, though. "You were right, Steve. I mean, I wouldn't have listened to ya even if I knew what Harper was plannin', but . . . I'm sorry, too." And then she sighed, shaking her head a little before peering back up at her boyfriend. "Can we just forget this?"

And with that, Steve visibly relaxed. "I think I'd like that." He gathered her in his arms, pulling her body closer to his, breathing her in and relishing in the feeling of her being that close to him. God, but he sure loved her.

Evie pressed her head against Steve's shoulder, fingers digging into the back of his shirt. "You know, I don't got any plans for tonight."

"That an invite?"

"It might be . . ."

Steve pulled back to give her a small smirk. "I don't got any plans for tonight, either." His lips found hers a second later, and in that second, both teens allowed themselves to forget about the events that had led them to this point, that had caused their fight.

But Evie quickly pulled back, an almost worried look on her face. "I don't think I want anymore pictures of us doin' this kinda thing in school."

Steve stared at her for a good moment, before laughing. "Ya know, Evie, that picture _was_ kinda hot . . ."

A light whack on the shoulder only made him laugh harder.

XXXXX

Four girls met up in the student parking lot after school that afternoon. It felt odd in a way, since they had always met up to discuss the salon, details, plans . . . but now there was nothing left to do, and they didn't exactly have anything left to discuss business wise. Each girl wondered about the other, though, wondered what would happen, or become of them. In the end, they had all learned something from each other, had grown to understand one another, and each girl had been a lesson to the other.

"So," Cathy said, for once sounding indifferent, as if she were at loss for words. "I can't believe that we survived the dance."

Evie allowed a smirk to brush her lips. "Yeah, I suppose I'll always have an award to remember it by."

Ella chuckled lightly as Bridget smiled. "Well, if there's ever another dance . . ."

There was a pregnant pause as each girl glanced at the other, eyes meeting for only a second. Would there be another time that they would get together? Ella would still see Cathy and Evie and Bridget in class every day, but would things after this still be the same? Well, in the end, Bridget was still a Soc, Evie was still a greaser, and Cathy and Ella were both in the middle, thrust in the center of a divide that was only visible to that town it seemed.

Bridget spoke up, then. "If there is ever another call for business, my house is always open to you three."

"Thanks . . . Bridget," Evie said, a sincere sound in her voice. "For everything."

And the black-haired girl nodded. "You, too . . . Evie."

A car horn pulled the girls away from their conversation, and they looked back to see Steve whacking Two-Bit upside the head from driver's seat, Ponyboy laughing in the back seat, and Dallas smirking ever so casually beside Two-Bit, who was leaning against Steve's car, still trying to reach in to honk the horn again.

"Well, I guess I'll see y'all around," Evie said.

There was a chorus of "Definitely", "Of course", and "Absolutely," that followed, and as each girl went their separate way that afternoon, they all hoped that they would, for four girls met up in the student parking lot that afternoon, and those four girls walked away from each other only moments later, knowing that the bond they had formed over the past few weeks would never be forgotten.

XXXXX

 _ **Author Notes**_ **:**

 _Cathy Carlson became Mrs. Curtis. Mrs. Darrel Curtis, that is. Evie Randle did her hair and makeup for the wedding and assured Cathy that no one could even tell she's pregnant. "Besides, who the hell cares what others think," Evie said with a grin. I'm told that Cathy's hair and makeup that day looked fabulous. But what else would we expect from Evelyn Martin Randle? Cathy and Darry would go on to have four children, Karen, Carlson-Darrel, William and Thomas. Between her part time job as a hospital administrative assistant, member on the PTA Board (Harper Valley has nothing on Tulsa!), service organizations, Cub Scout Den Mother, and serving as a chauffeur to her four children and whatever friends they bring home, she keeps herself busy. But every now and then she remembers three girls she met her Sophomore year of high school. It is because of those girls that every so often she'll volunteer to take flowers up to a patient's room and visit with them and to see life beyond her bubble and to be grateful for all that she has. Then she'll remember a quote: "Nobody sees a flower - really - it is so small it takes time - we haven't time - and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time." She'll sit down, smell the roses, look out the window and remember what her friend and brother-in-law told her, and she'll watch the sun set. Then as always, she'll go back to her work. Cathy's story is continued in_ The Visit _, and if you ever catch her sneaking out to take a smoke, well, that will just be our little secret._

 _Bridget's story is furthered in the_ Don't Think Twice _series, but in case you're curious, Angela is right and wrong: Vickie does get what's coming to her (in a manner of speaking), but things don't exactly go back to normal, and she and Bridget part ways (let's just say there's another memorable dance in their future). The transplant leaves Tulsa after high school and returns to the Big Apple - but this isn't an instance of choosing a career over love because the dumbass she fell for in high school follows her up there (eventually), and they get their own wonderfully fucked-up version of happily ever after with the house and the kids and the jaunty singing of old songs around the piano (and the kids will wonder who let Fred and Ginger into the house.) As for her new friends? Bridget doesn't forget, and she would never forget three of the girls who made her time in Tulsa bearable (and Mrs. Evie Randle won't let her, considering they're glued to each other at family functions.) As her husband would say, those few weeks in the fall of 1965 would make a helluva story someday._

 _Ella's story continues on through_ Green Light _, where she learns many valuable lessons about life, herself, people, and friendship. But the most prominent friendship and lesson she always remembers is the one she learned through three girls, three girls who became a large part of her life in the beginning of the school year (1965-1966). Ella goes on to form some unlikely friendships—especially with the one person she couldn't stand—but her later run-ins with Evie Martin caused a closer friendship between the two girls that neither expected._

 _The three of us -_ This Is Melodrama, lulusgardenfli _, and_ AndThatWasEnough _\- want to thank all of you for your support, feedback, and enthusiasm for this story. Thank you for reading!_


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